


Ribbons & Curls

by loveinslowmotion



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Haylor, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:32:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 187,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinslowmotion/pseuds/loveinslowmotion
Summary: One night. One night is all it takes to change the course of your life. What do you do when it's not something you planned, with someone you don't know where you stand with? Can one mistake turn into the greatest surprise you've ever been given?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> My loves! This really has been a long time coming. I just wanna start off by saying a _super_ thank you to everyone who has been so supportive, encouraging, patient, and all round amazing over this mega project that started off small and turned into _this._ With all my set backs, I couldn't have done it without you; I appreciate all your kind words more than I can express.
> 
> I didn't _actually_ want to write a story like this at first, but one idea led to another, and, well, you can see the word count. A full disclaimer: I am (obviously) no pregnancy/baby expert. I got most of my info from [this helpful site](http://www.essentialbaby.com.au/), among others, as well as some novels I've read. Any mistakes (and I'm sure there'll be some!) are all my own, but I hope they don't majorly impact the story.
> 
> This story goes over a long time frame and includes many canon events from late 2016 onwards. I couldn't include everything, naturally, and some times are tweaked a bit (more on a major one later!), but it should hopefully make the overall timeline make sense.
> 
> As usual, you can check out my [muse tag](http://klosswrites.tumblr.com/tagged/otp:%20i'd%20give%20all%20i%20have%20honey) and [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/fionakaay/playlist/6IvMYn32gGGhRRZkU1spRm?si=yHYkPXMWST6GLXDe-ixC5Q) for this fic, as well as a new [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com.au/rosegardns/otp-id-give-all-i-have-honey/). I'd _highly_ recommend waiting until you've finished reading first, mostly for the inspiration tag and board, unless you like spoilers, then go for your life!
> 
> Please don't pass this on to anyone portray within the story, and please don't re-post this (or any of my other fics!) on any website. It's not cool, fam.
> 
> Anyways, strap yourselves in, cast your minds back to 2016, and prepare yourself for A Big Mess. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it! I always love to hear from you, and once again, _thank you_ xxx

Tick tock, tick tock. There wasn’t even a clock in her bedroom, yet Taylor could hear the ticking in her head. Each passing second was driving her insane.

She was digging her fingernails into the bare skin of her knees. They were only short, but she was pressing hard enough to leave red crescents in her pale flesh. It didn’t hurt as much as it ordinarily would’ve; she felt numb.

Sitting beside her on the edge of her bed was Abigail, the one person here she trusted enough with her secret. She was holding a white stick that Taylor had come out of the bathroom with a minute ago, because when you’d been best friends since you were fifteen, it was perfectly okay to touch a stick the other had just peed on.

Even before Abigail spoke, Taylor knew what was coming. She had felt it in her heart for some time now, and as soon as Abigail tensed beside her, she knew for sure. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would stop the words about to come.

“Tay…” the redhead spoke tentatively. She glanced at Taylor, who refused to look back. “It’s done.”

She tried a subtle glance through slitted eyes. Her gaze caught on the sparkling ring on her friend’s fourth finger, and she felt like she was going to throw up.

“What does it say?” Taylor’s voice sounded thick with effort to get it out.  

“There’s two lines…” Abigail told her quietly, pain twisting her tone.

Two lines. Of course there were two fucking lines.

Taylor put her head in her hands, trying to hold it together. Her blood pounded in her ears, like the ticking she’d heard just before. She tried to concentrate on the steady rhythm instead of the tears that were threatening to burst through her closed eyes, but they inevitably won out. Immediately, Abigail wrapped her arms tightly around her and pulled her in close.

“Oh god,” Taylor cried, resting her head on Abigail’s shoulder. “Oh god, I can’t do this. I’m so fucking _stupid!”_

“It’s not your fault, Tay.”

“I slept with a guy I hadn’t spoken to in _months!”_

Worst of all, she could recall how badly she had wanted it. She had wanted him with all of her body, every cell aching for his familiar, addicting touch. In the few days after, she had been able to feel his touch lingering on her skin, the ghosts of his hands and his lips. It had gotten her through some lonelier nights since.

Abigail let her cry, rubbing her back soothingly as she held Taylor to her shoulder. Taylor needed the anchor – the man she’d entwined with might not stay, but Abigail wasn’t going anywhere. Over the years, through thick and thin, the girls had never let each other go, especially not during times as monumental as this.

“He’s going to hate me,” Taylor whimpered, voice wavering as she tried to get a hold of herself. “God, this is going to ruin everything for both of us.”

“He’s not going to hate you,” Abigail reassured her, and even though Abigail didn’t know him as well as some other past guys, Taylor knew she was right. She didn’t know what _would_ make him hate her, but this? Who knew what he was going to think of this.

“This is going to ruin me,” Taylor went on, ignoring the dribble from her nose and her smudged mascara making trails down her reddened cheeks. “People are so fucking cruel as it is, this is just... I’m done for! I’m going to be even _more_ of a joke!”

She started crying harder again; once she started, she doubted she could ever really stop. There was a weight on her chest and the teeniest, tiniest little person inside of her.

Taylor was pregnant, and she couldn’t bear to think what Harry Styles – let alone the rest of the world – was going to think when he found out.

For most of the year, they had hardly spoken. They were both busy with their own lives – Taylor, trying to figure out what she wanted after her last relationship came to an end, and Harry, filming his first movie and venturing out on his own – but had met again by chance at a party in September. They’d chatted together over drinks, flirted as they always seemed to. Taylor had once told herself she wasn’t going to go back to him again, but that night, her body and her heart had silenced that promise.

If it were anyone but her, it wouldn’t be quite the same drama, but Taylor wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the general public, always watching her with eagle eyes, was going to be understanding of her situation. The media was always looking for reasons, however small and irrelevant, to tear her down, and this was undeniably her biggest scandal in her ten-year career. Taylor Swift single and pregnant? The thought of the headlines made her feel sick.

“You’re going to have to tell him,” Abigail said when Taylor’s sobbing lulled again.

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Happy Halloween, I’m having your _baby’_?” Taylor sarcastically replied. The spookiest time of the year was nearly upon them, and when her period uncharacteristically hadn’t arrived for the month, she had known something was wrong. Fear that her concern wasn’t misplaced when the timing made too much sense had stopped her from waiting out for the next month.

“Maybe work on that,” Abigail suggested lightly. “I think you should talk to your mom first, though.”

The mere thought had Taylor groaning with dread. Her whole life, she had tried her best to make her parents proud, and she was sure this one careless act was going to undo it all. She could already see the disappointment in her mother’s eyes; she squeezed her eyes shut tighter to erase the image.

She didn’t want to talk to her mom, to Harry, to _anyone_. She wanted to curl up in a ball under the covers and never come out ever again.

Or at least until she had come up with a way to time travel and stop herself from making this big, stupid mess.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

On the first Wednesday of November, Taylor landed in London. Via private jet, the trip from Nashville had been peaceful – aside from the strangling grip of anxiety that had very nearly had her telling the pilot to turn the heck around.

She had arranged to have a car take her to Harry’s house; she didn’t trust herself to get there on her own accord when she could very easily divert to her own nearby place. It might’ve been weird that he had decided to move in so close to her all those years ago, but today, she was glad that she could probably run to the safety of her own space if need be.

It was nearly nine o’clock when she arrived in the city; she hadn’t wanted to deal with the greater chance of being seen in the daylight, and she thought best to have an excuse not to stay long at Harry’s. He was evidently a busy man these days, even more so than when she had first known him, despite the band’s hiatus. She had called him (as much as she’d been fearing it) over a week ago to tell him she needed to see him, and despite the desperation she was sure had been in her tone, he had been far too casual in saying this was as soon as he could manage.

And so, instead of hiding in her bedroom like she had been doing ever since Abigail had reluctantly left the day after she’d taken the test, Taylor had flown halfway across the world to convenience the man who had completely disrupted her life.

God, she could really be too nice for her own good.

When they eventually pulled up outside Harry’s place, it took Taylor a moment to move. She could see lights glowing inside through the curtains on the first floor; he was waiting for her. She only un-buckled her seatbelt when her driver coughed subtly, breaking her from her apprehensive stare. She shouldered the overnight bag she had brought with her (she didn’t plan to stay in London any longer than she had to) and told the driver she would let him know when she needed him again, hoping it would be sooner rather than later.

Taylor’s heart thumped hard in her chest as she made her slow way up to the front door. How long had it been since she had come to Harry like this? She could hardly remember the last time they had just hung out, as friends or otherwise.

In the thirty seconds or so it took for Harry to answer the ring of the doorbell, Taylor very seriously considered backing out. She could totally just sprint off into the darkness. Considering the number of crazy stalkers that probably _did_ try to ring his bell, it might not actually be all that uncommon for him to get a few knock-and-runs.

Maybe if the problem she had wasn’t so significant, she would’ve.

When the door finally opened, Harry’s friendly figure appeared with a glow of golden light around him, and a dazzling smile that would’ve made her swoon if there wasn’t a chaotic tangled knot in her stomach.

“Hey.” He extended a hand out to guide her inside, greeting her with a hug once the door was safely closed behind her. The excitement that tinged his tone had a sweep of guilt washing over her; his feeling wouldn’t last. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” Taylor replied noncommittally, dropping her bag down on the floor with a _thump_. “I’m not staying long. I just need to talk to you.”

“O- _kay_ ,” Harry said warily, suddenly realising that her visit wasn’t as cheerful as he’d been hoping. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Just some water’s fine, thanks.”

Although, a glass of wine would do her nerves some good, but she wasn’t going to cause any potential harm to the little bean beginning to grow inside her.

Her hand unconsciously rested on her abdomen while Harry sauntered over to the kitchen, and she dropped it as soon as she realised what she was doing.

While Harry filled a glass with chilled water from the fridge, Taylor glanced around. It had been quite some time since she’d been here, though it looked mostly the same, apart from the few additions of décor he’d acquired since. It was clean, as it normally was for him; she still hoped he hadn’t gone to the trouble of tidying up on her part, though considering he hadn’t been in London long, there probably wasn’t much he would’ve needed to do.

“Thanks,” Taylor murmured when he handed over the glass, fingers brushing briefly. She took a careful sip, glancing up at him though her bangs. A haircut was about due, but she had been understandably distracted.

Harry was as gorgeous as ever. A patterned button-down, hair perpetually tousled, green eyes clear as crystal – there was a ridiculous part of her that felt lucky that he wanted her here. There were hundreds of thousands of girls who would want to be in her place, standing in front of him, and yes, having his child.

If only _she_ wanted that.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. She had loved him, for a time, and there was always going to be a place for him wedged deep in her heart. Taylor just couldn’t see a future with him. While Harry had been a teenager when they dated, she had still known him (relatively) over the passing years, and she still saw that flightiness in him. He was always looking for something, something not even he knew, and he moved on from things without quite realising what he was doing. She’d tried – god, she’d _tried_ – but she knew that she wasn’t enough to stabilise his seeking heart.

Harry wasn’t the _worst_ person to stuck with, but she didn’t think he was the _best_.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked gently, since she didn’t seem to want to start the conversation herself.

“You might want to sit down,” Taylor suggested, her own voice kept low. He looked understandably confused, but he still did as she asked and moved to the sofa, bless his eager-to-please soul.

During the flight over, Taylor had been reworking how she was going to tell him. Hours she’d spent rephrasing and rephrasing, trying to come up with the most delicate way of putting it, and now, just as when she had told her mom, her mind drew a blank. She could barely remember how she’d started telling her mom – god, she could _not_ think of her mom right now. Tears welled in her eyes, and she pivoted away from Harry to hide her face.

“Is something wrong?” he spoke tentatively when she started pacing a little, almost making her laugh despite herself. Did he really think she had come all this way to tell him _good_ news?

On second thought, perhaps he had. He was dressed nice (though, really, he always was) and he smelled of a vaguely floral cologne. Despite the time passed, he had never really gotten over Taylor, and perhaps he really _did_ think that she had come all the way to London to profess her love for him.

God. She was going to break his heart.

“I’m pregnant,” Taylor blurted out without further thought, straight to the point, stopping to gauge his reaction.

Eyes blowing wide, Harry’s face turned a few shades whiter. “What?” he nearly squeaked out, too stunned to be embarrassed.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, a little firmer as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Harry’s gaze slid to the curtained window behind her, and she could see the words processing in his brain, could see him joining the dots. Slowly, he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Do you think I would’ve come all this way if I wasn’t?” Taylor snapped, with little care for his scolded expression. “And before you ask: yes, it’s definitely yours.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that,” Harry said levelly, looking a tad hurt that she would expect that from him.

There was a tense silence, neither able to look at each other, until Harry spoke again. “How long have you known?”

“About… two weeks, I guess,” Taylor answered, shrugging. If he wasn’t happy to hear he wasn’t top of the list of people she wanted to tell, he could get over it. She had very little sympathy for him right now.

“Who else knows?”

“My mom. Abigail. Now you.”

Harry nodded, running a hand through his hair, frowning. The last time Taylor had run her hands through that hair had been in a moment of intense lust; she now wished she never had.

“Have you thought about… options?” he asked cautiously, which got Taylor to glance back at him, eyes blazing in a glare.

“If you’re asking me what I think you’re asking, I really would’ve hoped you would know me better than that by now.”

In truth, Taylor _had_ thought about the available options – how could she not? None of them seemed like an easy option. If she had the baby, she would be subject to endless criticism, bringing a poor unsuspecting child into a life of paparazzi and unwarranted assessment from strangers near and far. If she gave it up for adoption, she would spend the rest of her life wondering where her baby was, what they were doing, what they were like. And if she had an abortion, it would shatter her heart, a decision she would never forgive herself for.

There was really only one option, and both of them knew it.

“Shit,” Harry cursed under his breath, leaning back on the sofa.

“You can say that again,” Taylor muttered back, avoiding his hard stare.

“Have you been to a doctor yet?”

“No! Do you think I just did the test and ran right out to the doctor?!”

“How am I supposed to know?! I’ve barely heard from you!”

“And I’ve barely heard from _you!”_

Anger was _much_ easier than being upset. She’d been in tears on and off for the last couple weeks, but under all that, was the anger over what Harry had done to her. Now that it had surfaced, she couldn’t hold it back.

“I’ve gone _months_ without you giving a single _shit_ about me, and then you find me at a party, and oh, you want me again! ‘Cause that’s all I am to you! Someone to fuck and leave whenever you damn like, except now you’ve gotten me _pregnant_ , and you have the audacity to act like _I’m_ in the wrong for not reaching out to _you_ all this time! You _know_ that if _I_ hadn’t called _you_ , you definitely wouldn’t have called me on your own free will!”

Leaning forward again, arms resting on his knees, Harry tensed, though he didn’t take his eyes off her. “I was _trying_ to give you space while you had a boyfriend.”

“I broke up with him _months_ ago!”

“I didn’t want to be a dick coming back into your life right away.”

“Well you were one anyway when you slept with me and didn’t speak to me again!”

Taylor took a step to slam her glass of water down on the coffee table – wise, considering her growing temper. She wasn’t normally one to throw anything, but if he pushed her enough, she very well might just take to breaking things in order to release her frustration.

At least Harry had the decency to look like he meant it when he said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” she replied bitterly, though she was thankful he had bothered to say so.

“I didn’t… _make_ you do anything…”

Actually, fuck his apology.

“Oh, no, but _you_ didn’t do anything to stop this from happening!” Taylor accused, agitation still rising. “You didn’t care, and now you’ve ruined everything! You,” – she pointed a finger at him – “people are going to look at you and just laugh it off like it’s no big deal. They’re going to look at me,” – she stabbed her finger to her chest – “and brand me a dirty _slut_ for hooking up and having my ex-boyfriend’s _baby!”_

She was starting to shake now, and she felt a little sick, whether from a consequential effect of her physical state or her anxiety over the whole thing, it didn’t matter. She was deeply upset, and when Harry clearly recognised it and rose to his feet, she immediately took a step back.

“This is going to _ruin_ me and you know it! You know it and you don’t even care!”

“Taylor–”

“Why would you _do_ this to me?!”

Tears were beginning to spill from her wild eyes that she didn’t even particularly notice. Harry reached out to try to comfort her but Taylor still edged away from him, not wanting him near her, until he managed to grab her around the shoulders and firmly pull her into him, where she relented and collapsed in her emotion with her head on his shoulder.

She clutched around his middle as she sobbed into the smooth fabric of his shirt, only half listening to Harry’s calming murmurs. This wasn’t the meeting she had imagined – she had hoped to remain more contained, but her reasoning had left her the minute she’d laid eyes on Harry, as it too often did.

“It’s alright, love,” she heard him say, and she tugged at a fistful of his shirt.

“It’s _not!”_ she cried, wet and hopeless. “I can’t do this; I’m not _ready_.”

Harry shushed her, running a hand up to cradle her head. It made her feel like a child, which was painfully ironic. She wanted to push him away, but she needed him more than she wanted to admit.

Very carefully, Harry slowly backed them up toward the couch, where he sat, guiding her down on top of him. Taylor slipped comfortably onto his lap with ease, the movement, while no longer fun and flirty, still familiar to them both. He kept his arms hugged around her as she buried her face in his neck, tears still flowing in abundance.

They sat like that together for a long time. Once the worst of her cries had passed, one of Harry’s hands began idly playing with her hair, while the other laid protectively on the small of her back. Against her Taylor could feel the solidness of his body, the sureness of his frame, bigger than her own. Her running nose couldn’t properly smell the recognisable mix of shampoo and cologne and man, but she knew it was lingering around him. As ridiculous as it was, as much as a part of her still wanted to run, she felt a certain safety in his familiar embrace. Harry had her there, in his arms, with no apparent intent on letting go.

God. If she really did feel safe here, maybe she really had lost her mind.

When all she had left were sniffles, Taylor kept her head hidden and sore eyes closed, soothed by Harry’s gentle touches. She didn’t want to look up, knowing the awful state her face was in, not to mention what she’d surely done to his shirt.

“I’m really sorry, Taylor,” Harry spoke so softly, it was almost inaudible. “I’m so, so sorry; I never wanted to put you in this kind of position.”

“I know,” Taylor whispered back, slipping a hand of her own up into his hair. It was soft with a fresh wash; she wanted to nuzzle her face against it like one of her cats, who she probably spent too much time with these days.

They were quiet again, until Harry gently encouraged her to sit back and look at him. Taylor reluctantly went along with it, wiping her cheeks and under her nose with the back of her hand, in lieu of a tissue.

“I think you should stay here tonight,” he told her, keeping his voice low and calming. “You don’t have to stay longer, but I’m not okay with you leaving like this.”

It wasn’t just her messy appearance, she knew. They’d left things on sour notes before, and it never left either of them feeling any good.

“Okay,” Taylor agreed feebly, struggling to meet his eyes.

“We can talk more about this tomorrow?” he asked, and she nodded as if she really had a choice. “I… I just want you to know, I’m not… whatever you decide, I’m here for you.” Taylor managed to look back at him properly, and he brushed back a lock of her hair. “It’s your body. It’s up to you.”

Lower lip quivering just slightly, her eyes threatened to pool with fresh tears. He thought it was on account of mentioning the unexpected future again, but it wasn’t, not quite. It was that out of any guy this could’ve happened with, it was one that wasn’t going to try to tell her what to do, but support what _she_ wanted.

“Okay,” was still all she managed to say.

Harry let her clean herself up in his bathroom, while he went to make himself a cup of tea, not intending on sleep just yet. Taylor changed into her pyjamas in his bedroom he’d insisted she take, hesitating before going to say goodnight to him, her natural kindness overruling her urge to burrow right into bed.

It was short and kind of awkward, a quick hug that didn’t come close to the comfort they’d shared on the couch. Beside the steaming cup of tea sitting on the bench was a bottle of brandy, and the corner of her lips twitched slightly upon noticing; she didn’t blame him. She only hoped he had given himself a generous splash.

The pillows smelled like Harry, and hard as she tried, Taylor couldn’t block it out when she wrapped herself up in the blankets in the middle of the bed. She was tired from the flight, though, and her reddened eyes were begging to be kept closed.

Harry kept quiet in the lounge, but before she fell asleep, Taylor thought she could hear sniffles coming through the almost-closed door.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

When Taylor awoke in the morning, she promptly realised she had company – and not of the small furry variety she was accustomed to.

Prying her eyes open, she found Harry lying within reach, his back to her as he slept on the very edge of the bed. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on her space, but more than that, he hadn’t wanted her to wake up alone.

In her sleepy haze, she almost wriggled over and cuddled up to him. She almost ran her hand up his chest while she kissed his neck, before trailing back down to touch him good morning. Almost, but this wasn’t like before.

Taylor stared up at the ceiling, sighing quietly. What on earth was she going to do?

She lay awake for a while, until the need to go to the bathroom started to irritate her. _It’s only going to get worse,_ her mind taunted her. _Just wait ‘til you start throwing up._

“Guess who’s not going to have to deal with that?” she muttered bitterly to herself, glancing toward the ensuite door she had locked behind her. “Fucking _men_.”

As much as she tried to remind herself that Harry was a lot nicer than some of her other exes, Taylor wasn’t going to readily let go of everything else weighing against him. This wasn’t what she wanted – she had been living in peace for a change, and a baby, however joyful they might be, was _not_ peaceful.

She disturbed Harry while she tried to find her cosmetic case where she’d put her contacts last night. He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow, bleary eyed, confused by the shuffling of things in the bag on the floor. What she didn’t know was how often he slept alone.

“You okay?” he mumbled, raspy voice startling her. Taylor glanced over her shoulder and gave a small nod.

“Just getting my contacts.”

“Oh,” he sighed as he flopped back down. “Have you been up long?”

“Not really.”

Rising to her feet once she found what she was after, Taylor slipped back into the bathroom to routinely put her contacts in. She blinked a few times at her reflection in the mirror, realised she should’ve thought to bring her hairbrush too, her curls tangled from sleep, but Harry had seen her look worse, after all.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Harry asked when she walked back in.

“I can make it.”

“’S okay.”

Harry climbed out of bed, Taylor relieved to find he had thoughtfully remained clothed in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt. The cold temperatures outside warranted him to wear pants to bed, surely, but Taylor knew him well enough to know he would happily throw an extra blanket on his bed so he could comfortably not wear a thing.

As she sat herself down at the table, watching as Harry went through what their breakfast options were, Taylor couldn’t help but notice the way the cotton of his shirt stretched over the muscles of his back and clung snugly to his arms. She might’ve been upset with him, but her body still frustratingly reacted to him the same as it always had.

He poured them both bowls of cornflakes and made cups of tea, since Taylor wasn’t going to miss the chance of having an Englishman do it for her while she was here. She thanked him for it, and then the only sound in the place was the hum of the refrigerator and their crunching as they sat across from each other.

It occurred to Taylor that she hadn’t thought to ask him how he was doing. He had invited her here and let her in with open arms – though might that have been different if he had known the nature of her visit beforehand? In any case, she felt impolite for not asking.

“How have you been?” she spoke with a friendliness in her voice that hadn’t been there the night before, and Harry looked mildly surprised as he glanced up at her; that only gave her a fresh prod of guilt.

“Good. Good, yeah,” he smiled at her softly. “It’s nice to just have a break for a while.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Taylor found herself returning a small smile, out of the understanding of what it was like to take a step back from the craziness that came with being in the spotlight. Nashville had become her sanctuary, where she could do whatever she wanted: paint, play, write, read, dance, garden, or nothing at all. Her time was all hers.

“Are you planning on doing any solo stuff soon?” she asked, still curious about what his next project was, as much as the rest of the world.

“Um…” Harry swirled his spoon in his bowl, considering. “Not soon, no. Next year, though, I think.”

Taylor nodded, reaching for her mug. He was talented, both in his vocals and his writing, and she knew, whichever direction he went in, she was going to enjoy hearing it. He didn’t realise that she admired him, too.

“I’m sorry for last night,” Taylor surprised him again, with the frank change in topic. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That wasn’t fair.”

Harry scooped up a spoonful of cornflakes, watching them balance in a small pool of milk. An unexpected little smile twitched at the left side of his mouth as he glanced back up at her. “I kind of deserved it.”

Despite herself, Taylor started to smile back. “You did,” she agreed, and they both chuckled lightly. At least they hadn’t lost their sense of humour.

“Your family’s going to kill me,” Harry thought after swallowing what was on his spoon.

“Not _kill_ you, exactly. But my mom’s not too happy with you, for sure. Austin might punch you in my honour.”

“I can’t imagine Austin punching anyone.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that, to give him extra motivation.” She smiled teasingly. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he spares your face.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he replied dryly.

“They’re not… _really_ going to do anything to you,” Taylor slowly reassured him. “I think… it’s more of a shock than anything else, y’know?”

He nodded, running a hand through his messy bedhead. “I know.”

“Do you think we could make it work?” she asked, the question that had really been stuck in her mind ever since she had taken the pregnancy test – since she had the first inkling something was amiss, really. Her eyes locked on his, while he chewed on his bottom lip.

“It wouldn’t be _easy_ …” Harry recognised, careful with organising his thoughts. “Do you still want kids?”

“I don’t know how I can give kids a normal life.”

That was the hardest thing. If she didn’t have a well-known name, had chosen a quieter life, she wouldn’t be questioning everything like she was now. It still wouldn’t be a breeze, having a child with someone she wasn’t in a relationship with, but at least she would be able to more confidently guarantee the normalcy of the child’s life. There was nothing normal about having cameras always watching.

“Is that going to stop you from having them altogether?”

Taylor opened her mouth to answer, closing it as she reconsidered. No. She didn’t want to give up everything she had envisaged for herself just because of the opinions of people who didn’t even know her.

“Do you want to be with me?” she replied with instead, a more loaded question. “I don’t expect you to… _marry_ me, or anything, but would you want to be with me, for the baby?”

Harry smiled down at his cereal, and he looked so much like the eighteen-year-old boy Taylor had first known, she had to force her eyes away, for she knew how that story ended – alone. This couldn’t be the same.

His eyes were gleaming with intensity when they travelled back up to her, a not altogether unsurprising fondness filling them. “I’d like to be with you, regardless of the baby,” he told her truthfully, the breath catching in her throat. “I’m really sorry that I made you feel like I only wanted to sleep with you. Hurting you has never been my intention.”

The shadow under his eyes marking a restless sleep was evidence of that. Like her, the news had left him shaken, swirling with a million thoughts, keeping him up longer than he wanted. It was more what it meant for her that bothered him: he’d caused enough trouble the last time they’d been together, he never wanted to put her through that again, and he knew that this time it would be worse. People could be really fucking cruel – there was no chance they would go easy on Taylor. And that, in part, was Harry’s fault, a weight that had already added itself to his shoulders.

“If you… if you want to have the baby, I’ll be there for you in whatever way I can,” he went on, his gaze never leaving her as he made his promise. “I’m not going to let you do it alone.”

Finding her voice again, Taylor leaned forward a little in her seat. “You’re presuming I want your company.”

Her bland tone pricked a hole in his confidence, until he recognised the playful glint in her eyes. Then he rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he huffed a laugh. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Taylor smiled at him, always pleased when he understood her. “I’m still… thinking. This is the biggest decision I’ve ever had to make.”

The clock was ticking, but there was still time.

“Why don’t we just… hang out, today?” Harry suggested. “Might be good to relax. Unless you have to go, of course,” he hastily added, with some sense of disappointment.

With no certain plans, and the need to be on better terms with the man she was intertwined with, Taylor gave a small shake of her head. “I can stay.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Strangely enough, the biggest decision she had ever had to make was one of the easiest.

Back in Nashville after a few days with Harry, Taylor spent some more much-needed time with her mom. She had taken the difficult step of telling her dad, which had broken her heart when she saw the glassiness grow in his kind eyes. He held her tight like she was a little girl again when she started crying, and she knew she was blessed to have the endlessly supportive family she had.

The next difficult step was booking a doctor’s appointment. Harry had offered to go with her, but she really didn’t think that was a good idea. She was guaranteed confidentiality, but that didn’t necessarily mean that a little gossip wouldn’t travel between doctors, which might get out to families, which might get onto the internet. Having Harry there would only increase her nerves.

Ironically, it was the morning of the appointment that Taylor was on her knees in the bathroom. She wanted to think it was purely her stress, but judging by how fine she felt after she was sick, she knew what it really was.

Throughout the whole appointment with her doctor, Taylor felt like she might just die of embarrassment (though if she were about to drop dead, at least she was in the right place). She had brought her mom along with her for support, needing at least _one_ of them to be of sound mind while they really accepted the truth.

The doctor explained what was ahead, while Taylor sat there quietly, her hands clasped in her lap, palms sweating despite the wintery day. She was given some pamphlets to take home with her, which Taylor politely accepted, despite the image in her head of tossing them into the fireplace.

She had to stop thinking like that. This was happening, and it would be a whole lot easier if she just took care of herself.

They took a few simple tests and booked future appointments, more frequent toward the later months. Having a plan helped made her feel more grounded, but it was obvious that there was a whole lot more still left to figure out.

“Is he coming to see you soon?” her mom asked once they were back in the car. Taylor stroked her finger over the cotton bud taped to her inner arm where they had taken a blood test, the fact that Harry’s name was deliberately withheld not escaping her. She had been the only one to speak his name since this had all begun.

“He’s seeing his family,” she replied, keeping her eyes down on her arm.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“We’ve been texting.”

It reminded her to take out her phone and message him back: he’d been wanting to know how her appointment turned out. _‘On my way home now. Looking good so far’_ she typed, hesitating before adding a smiling emoji at the end to make it sound more light-hearted. It was kind of odd – she didn’t know their dynamic anymore, wasn’t sure how to talk to him. It always seemed to be like that when their circles inevitably collided every now and then, but they generally got over it for the short time they were together. Now they were tethered together for much, much longer, she wasn’t sure how it was going to work.

Her parents, clearly, didn’t know either.

“He hasn’t called?”

“That doesn’t _mean_ anything, mom,” Taylor insisted reasonably, glancing across at her mother in the driver’s seat. “I’m not expecting him to just give up everything to spend every day with me. I don’t need that.”

“Not now,” her mom agreed, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. “But if he won’t support you when you don’t, how do you know he will when you do?”

“Oh my god, he’s known for what, a week? He wants to be with his mom!” Taylor defended him, though she knew that, really, there was a point to that. “He’s going to come soon.”

Harry hadn’t told her when – he was yet to book a flight – but she trusted that he wasn’t going to leave her hanging.

Her mom didn’t answer, and Taylor glanced back out the passenger side window, watching the familiar streets of home pass by. At least she had somewhere she could be without being bothered too much, not like the endless paparazzi that stalked her in New York. How she was going to manage once her stomach grew, she hadn’t a clue, but she knew for sure she wasn’t going anywhere near big cities crawling with pitiless cameramen.

“Do you want anything while we’re out?” her mom asked before they got too close to the family home, where Taylor had wisely opted to stay for a while.

“I wouldn’t mind a burger,” Taylor thought. “Maybe some fries.”

“Were you not listening when the doctor told you not to eat too many greasy foods?”

“What if I’m craving a burger? What if my one craving this entire time is burgers? Am I supposed to ignore it for a whole nine months?”

She saw her mom sigh, and she knew she’d won.

“It’s going to be a _long_ nine months.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

When Harry came to visit the following week, Taylor had decided it best not to stay with her parents for the time he was over. They were intending on him talking to her parents, but the thought of being trapped in the one house full of tension was more uncomfortable than she wanted to have to deal with.

It was awkward enough at Taylor’s place, just the two of them – plus the cats, of course. Mere minutes after she had invited him inside at midmorning, she had hastily had to excuse herself to throw up, which really wasn’t the welcome she had been aiming for.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked with a look of concern when she re-emerged from the bathroom, her face paler than when she’d entered.

“Fine,” Taylor tried a smile, guiding him to the kitchen so she could pour a glass of water.

Harry kept watching her, not quite believing her. “Is it bad?”

“Not really.” And it wasn’t. It was generally a morning thing, like she’d been expecting, and as soon as the nausea passed, she felt fine, as if it hadn’t happened at all. “That was the first time today – terrible timing, mind you.”

She smiled again, and Harry returned it with the reassurance. “I’ll try not to take it personally.”

Harry felt more like a guest than someone who belonged there. Considering their limited conversation in recent times, it made sense for the time being, but what if it didn’t change? What if there was always going to be this wall between them, that neither knew how to break through?

At least when they went around to her parents’ house the following day for lunch, Harry put in effort to make a good impression. He showered, dressed in expensive jeans and a cosy sweater that half made Taylor want to push him down onto her bed so she could curl up against it. He’d considered changing into a more formal shirt, but she had been quick to turn the idea down.

“You look friendly,” she smiled softly at him. _Like dad material._

Taylor drove them, while Harry sat fidgeting in the passenger seat, clicking the screen of his phone on and off distractedly as it rested on his thigh. He was shitting himself; it wouldn’t have surprised her if he had joined her in her morning sickness out of pure nerves.

“It’s not going to be that bad,” Taylor tried to comfort him. He’d met her parents before, years ago, but their circumstance was a lot different now. They weren’t likely to look at him the same as they had the first time.

“They’re going to kill me,” Harry spoke distantly, convinced. “Your mum’s going to slip poison in my salad.”

“My mom is not a murderer,” she levelly replied, though a rebellious smile was creeping up on her lips at the thought. “But if you’re so concerned about the safety of the salad, just make sure to take your share yourself. She can’t have poisoned the whole lot, unless her solution to all this is to kill us all.”

Harry just shook his head. “Your dad’s going to ram guitar picks down my throat.”

That actually made Taylor laugh out loud, momentarily losing concentration on the road over the image that formed in her mind. “You’ve _met_ my dad,” she reminded him; the kind-hearted man who had raised her was difficult to imagine being driven to that sort of behaviour.

“He’s going to use them to poke out my eyes,” he said in his unwavering monotone. “He’s going to push me out the window and make it look like an accident.”

“And leave his grandchild without a father? I don’t think so.”

He went quiet again, the tension still remaining in his muscles. When they turned the corner into her parents’ street, Taylor reached across and rested her hand on his knee impulsively. It was meant to be comforting, and once Harry got over the initial shock of the unexpected touch, he seemed to relax a bit.

“Taylor?” he said quickly when they came to a stop in the driveway, looking at her with a shy kind of panic. “What am I supposed to say to them?”

She was wondering the very same thing. Shrugging a little, she suggested, “Just be honest.”

“Honest,” he repeated, a horrified frown suddenly creasing his brow. “I can’t be honest!”

“And why not?”

“I can’t answer anything about that night! Everything I thought about you was… god, _I’d_ throw myself out the window rather than admit any of that.”

Closing her eyes briefly, she took a calming breath. “They’re not going to ask about that night. But if they happen to say something like, _‘what were you thinking?’_ , please, do not tell them what you were really thinking.”

The memory of Harry’s mouth on her breast, his raspy voice giving endless compliments as their bodies lie bare, had her tender nipples rising against her bra. _Nobody_ needed to hear the dirty details of that night.

“C’mon.” Taylor offered a short smile, reaching into the backseat for her handbag and climbing out the car before she could back out, like both of them probably would’ve preferred.

Harry followed her along up the path, keeping a safe distance between them when they stopped at the door, Taylor ringing the bell. Before they got an answer, he murmured, “’M going to shit myself,” which had the both of them smiling stupidly, trying to suppress giggles.

Their expressions altered as soon as the door swung open, revealing Taylor’s mom. She smiled at the both of them as she welcomed them inside, but there was a guardedness in it that made Harry want to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

Taylor hugged her in greeting, promising that she was feeling well today. Harry, lingering a step behind her, wiped his sweating palms surreptitiously on the black denim of his jeans, anxiously waiting his turn to be acknowledged.

When her mom’s gaze fixed on him, Harry felt every single fibre of his confidence slip away. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs Swift,” he said quietly, politely. He tried a small smile, that thankfully had her softening.

“Andrea, honey,” she told him, and when she surprisingly pulled him into a hug of his own, Taylor looked like she might cry as she watched on.

“Have you gotten taller?” Andrea asked like a true parent as she broke away, looking up at him. “You look so grown up.”

It _had_ been a few years since they’d last seen each other. He had grown more into his looks, his teenage heartthrob appearance leading into a more matured handsomeness as he hit his twenties. He was still so young, though: only twenty-two. He’d be twenty-three once the baby was born, Taylor with five years on him. She didn’t want to think about it.

“Thank you,” Harry smiled down at Andrea, feeling less like he was a completely unwelcomed guest. “You’re looking well.”

“I am, thank you. C’mon, let’s get you two some drinks.”

They followed along behind on their way to the kitchen, Taylor and Harry sharing a glance of raised eyebrows. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be as awkward as they had anticipated.

Or not. As they soon sat down at the dining table for lunch, her parents on one side and Taylor and Harry on the other, the conversation was kept light; no one yet mentioned the elephant in the room, bringing an air of tension hovering over them. A part of Taylor wanted to scream at her parents for being so polite with Harry when she knew how pissed they were with him, but she withheld for everyone’s sake.

There was salad, but it wasn’t poisoned. Harry shared a secret smile with her as he spooned a pile onto his plate; if they had been alone, he no doubt would’ve pretended to keel over. There were no guitar picks used inappropriately, either: upon meeting in the kitchen, Harry and her father had shaken hands like gentlemen. He was, physically, going to be fine.

The worst of it really came _after_ their nice meal. They relocated to the lounge, all but Taylor offered a glass of light wine, necessary to get through such a conversation. There was the same separation of parents who knew better and parents-to-be, only making the strain clearer.

A thick blanket of discomfort sucked the air from the room; both Taylor and Harry were feeling too hot in their jumpers. They sat a respectable distance apart, yet Taylor could feel his warm presence as if he were right up against her. She almost wanted to shuffle further away, if it wouldn’t have made thing even more awkward.

It came as a surprise when it was Harry who cut through the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, voice clear and (relatively) confident. “I’m really very sorry; it was never my intention to cause any… distress, for your family.”

“I should hope not,” Andrea retorted, taking him a notch down. “What are your intentions now?”

 Glancing at Taylor, Harry searched for an answer. “Well… I plan to support Taylor in whatever way I can. It’s up to her what she wants to do – I’ll be there for her.”

“What about your career? What about _both_ of your careers? A child is a lot of responsibility – how do you plan on taking care of a baby when you’re off touring half the time?”

“I’m on a break,” Taylor reminded them. “I can take another year off. It doesn’t matter to me.”

The complete looks of disbelief from her parents made it obvious that it _did_ matter. She was enjoying her time off, for sure, but they knew their daughter: she loved her work, and sooner or later she would be itching to get back in the studio, back on the stage. Even with a newborn to focus her attention on, music would always be calling her.

“I’ve got a film coming out next year,” Harry added in, “but aside from that, I don’t have to do anything.”

Taylor cut him a sharp look; this was the first she was hearing of him giving up the music he had been hoping to release. “You’re not seriously going to put off recording on my account?”

He shrugged, “You’re more important.”

“I’m not going to be responsible for holding back your career!”

“He’s responsible for holding back yours,” her dad pointed out, which had Taylor snapping her head back to him, while Harry winced.

“There’s no reason for him not to record now if he wants to,” she insisted.

“He’s the father of your child,” Andrea reminded her. “Do you want to do this alone?”

“I don’t want to do this at all!”

A silence fell between them, as if they hadn’t already known that Taylor didn’t want to go through this. But what choice did she have? None. She felt like she hadn’t had a say in it at all.

“I want to help however I can,” Harry eventually spoke up again, his tone lower. “I love kids; ‘m not going to leave Taylor to do this on her own.”

“Do you care for Taylor?” came her dad, Scott leaning back in his chair as he watched Harry carefully through his glasses. “Do you want our daughter in your life permanently?”

“Yes,” Harry answered without a moment to think, his voice full of conviction. It had the breath catching in Taylor’s throat; she was glad to hide behind curtains of her curls as she reached for her glass of water.

“If you care about her, why weren’t you more careful–”

“It was a mistake,” Harry interrupted her mom, thankfully. “I… I have no excuse for taking advantage of her that way.”

Taylor had to bite her tongue before she cursed in front of her parents. She remained screened behind her glass, her irritation far from dissipating.

“Do you often–”

“Mom!” she couldn’t stop herself from crying out, glancing up in horror. “He’s not like that! Even if he was, it’s his own business.”

“I’d say it’s our business now.”

“Oh my god.” Setting her glass back on the table, she shook her head in frustration. “I can’t do this.”

“Taylor,” her mom warned.

“You can’t act like he’s the only one to blame! He didn’t force me into anything; I wanted him.”

Beside her, Harry tried very hard to keep his expression neutral, stopping his brows from shooting up in surprise. Although, he _had_ known that already – their desire had been blatantly evident that night – but Taylor sure hadn’t mentioned it since.

Her parents seemed equally stunned, neither needing the image of their daughter physically wanting someone. (And she’d thought _he_ was the one she had to worry about conjuring that up)

“I walked up to him. This never would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone up to him,” Taylor went on, unable to stop herself. She rose to her feet. “If you’re going to blame him, you’re going to have to blame me too!”

And then she just walked right out. Like she was a teenager again, she stomped off with her head held high. It wasn’t likely to improve matters, but she could recognise when she needed to step away for her own sake.

Despite the cold, and the annoyed calls from her parents, Taylor slipped out the back door into the fresh November air. A deep breath in helped to calm her, filling her lungs with unstifled air.

With no one following her, she hopped off the deck and made her way down the garden, the damp stones prickling her bare feet. The approaching clouds threatened rain, but she figured she had enough time to sit on her own for a little while and recollect herself.

It wasn’t that bad. _She_ was the only one who had raised their voice, which… maybe she shouldn’t have done. God, since when did she have to get so emotional?

Right. She knew exactly when.

While she sat on a bench tucked between two sheltering trees, Taylor couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside without her. She had tried to help by shutting down the conversation, but instead she had selfishly left Harry inside on his own, her parents no doubt still questioning him.

How different would it be if they were dating? Were they expected to date now? Taylor genuinely liked Harry, clearly found him attractive, but… she wasn’t really interested in dating. Having left a man who didn’t appreciate her enough and rebounding with another who deserved someone whose heart was really in it, she had thought best to spend the rest of the year on her own. She was happy on her own.

She was also happy underneath Harry, and now she was paying the price for such an indulgence.

“Why does he have to be so _good?”_ Taylor complained aloud, resting a hand on her stomach as she leaned back against the bench. She couldn’t feel anything yet, but she knew the baby, not yet even an inch in length, was there, making her tired and sensitive and sick every morning. There was a sort of comfort in knowing that wherever she went, whenever it was, she was no longer ever truly alone.

Harry wasn’t going to leave her. The pair of them were as stubborn as each other – they were in this together, no matter how many difficult conversations lie ahead. Considering what they were facing, there was going to be a _lot_.

“It could be worse,” she spoke to the little one who couldn’t yet hear her. “At least he’s hot.”

She wasn’t sure how long she sat out there, relaxed by the peaceful sound of rustling leaves and the refreshing air sweeping across her face. Eventually the back door opened and her mom popped out, glancing around the garden from her vantage point on the deck until her gaze found Taylor.

“Come inside, baby. You’ll catch a cold.”

Cold. Looking down at her hands, they had turned red from the low temperature, her feet much the same, left unnoticed as she lost herself in her thoughts. Taylor hurried back inside, chastising herself for being careless when it wasn’t only her own health she had to worry about anymore.

“You’re freezing!” Andrea gasped when Taylor slipped into the kitchen, tugging her sleeves down over her hands, while her mom touched her cheek.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, her pink nose disagreeing.

“Go sit down – I’ll fix you a hot drink.”

With some reluctance, Taylor returned to the lounge; she couldn’t hide forever. She smiled a little at the two men still in the room and plopped back into the spot she had been in before, tucking her feet up under her. The room didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she had been expecting: whatever had passed, Harry and her father didn’t hate each other, at least.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked her quietly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. A small part of her was disappointed he didn’t.

“I’m tired,” she sighed. Always tired. Probably would remain that way for the next few years.

“Do you want me to get you a blanket?” her dad offered, rising from his seat as she gave into his thoughtfulness with a nod.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Harry asked again once they were alone, and she nodded once more.

“Did they berate you?”

He chuckled, the familiar sound making her gravitate towards him on a whim, resting her head on his shoulder. “Something like that.”

Harry’s body was warm, much warmer than hers, and Taylor snuggled up to him as if they were the only two in the house, her eyes closed as he slid a comforting arm around her.

By the time her mom returned with a mug of hot chocolate and her dad with a blanket, Taylor had drifted off, and they found their daughter content in the arms of the man they would begin to trust.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Their next stop was New York, by private jet to a small airport that would leave them undetected, for a meeting with their publicists.

It was as awful as it sounded.

They managed to sneak into the office building without being noticed, but both were dreading the meeting, almost as much as when they had visited Taylor’s parents. They had left the Swift’s with a lot more to discuss, but at least with the hope of things turning out okay.

The flip side of it was the business aspect. Families and friends could come to terms with the situation, but it was unlikely they would make it through the media unscathed.

“It’s going to be fine, love,” Harry reassured her as they took the elevator up to level three, keeping his tone low. There was another man inside, but he was too busy typing away on his phone to care that he was in an elevator with two of the world’s biggest pop stars.

Taylor gave him a small, appreciative smile, though she didn’t particularly believe him.

Her stomach churned as the doors opened with a _ding_. Harry let her step out first, walking along beside her as they looked for the room they had been directed to. The car ride over, she hadn’t felt well, which she had stupidly tried to put down to nerves. They were certainly a part of it – navigating New York without being spotted was no easy feat, least not when with a male that the whole world would like to hear about – but they weren’t _all_ of it.

“Have you seen a bathroom?” Taylor asked, glancing back behind them in case she’d missed them.

Harry eyed her with concern. “Are you…?” She quickly nodded, and he rested a protective hand on the small of her back, guiding her further forward. “Shit, um… There! There’s one just there.”

A few doors down was one with a bathroom sign, and with Harry’s directive point, Taylor scurried off. His hand slid down to give her a light little tap on the ass to get her going; she didn’t think he even realised he did it. From years of knowing each other (especially intimately), they were comfortable with each other, but they hadn’t _done_ anything, not since that fateful night.

Thankfully, the bathroom was empty when Taylor pushed her way in, no one to hear when she unwillingly threw up her breakfast. She should’ve packed a small snack with her, just in case, so she wouldn’t get hungry again partway through the meeting. She wasn’t used to leaving the security of her home like this.

She _had_ remembered to bring some mints with her, which she popped into her mouth after rinsing her mouth out in the sink. She slipped the tin back into her handbag before stepping back into the hall, where she found Harry waiting with the same apprehensive look he always wore whenever he was around to see her struck with a bout of morning sickness.

“You’re okay?”

“For the hundredth time, _yes_ ,” Taylor emphasised, raking a hand through her loose hair. “I feel perfectly normal.”

Perfectly normal for a pregnant woman, at least.

Harry’s hand rested again on her back as he guided her the rest of the way, gentlemanly letting her through the office door first. The touch was a small sense of comfort, just what she needed as they came face to face with their publicists, already sitting across from each other at the table.

The room was light with minimal furnishings, a painting on one wall and a decorative plant in the corner of another. On the centre of the table sat a jug of cold water, condensation having formed on the exterior, and four glasses set out for those in attendance.

They sat opposite each other, next to their respective publicists, after their greetings and introductions, apologising for the minor delay. Harry poured water for them, and they were set for business.

“So,” Harry’s publicist smiled, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, a blue pen in her hand. He had warned Taylor first: she was new, and he didn’t really know her yet. From her initial tone, he almost wished he’d just asked Jeff to come instead. At least he’d know how it was going to go down. “Have you two discussed how you plan to go about this?” she inquired, as if it weren’t as big a deal as it really was.

Looking over at each other, they tried to encourage the other to answer. Taylor’s parents had made it clear that there was plenty they needed to figure out, yet they didn’t see a great rush. They were a long way off from welcoming their child into the world.

“Are you… _having_ the baby?” the blonde prompted, and a part of Taylor wanted to snap it was her own damn business.

Instead, she looked back steadily, answering clearly, “Yes. I am.”

“Okay,” she nodded back. “Are you going to be making an announcement? A statement, or a social media post?”

“I don’t think it’s necessary.”

His publicist looked doubtful. “People are going to find out – don’t you want to be in control of it?”

“The stress of the reaction Taylor’s inevitable to receive isn’t healthy for her right now,” her own acknowledged, thankfully. Taylor had already spoken to her via video chat: they were on the same page. “We think it’s best if we wait until she’s at least past twelve weeks, in case of any complications, but most likely until after the birth.”

Complications. Birth. The whole thing made Taylor feel vaguely sick again.

“Do you two want to be seen together beforehand?”

“I don’t do stunts,” Taylor informed her firmly. The last thing she wanted was to add in a bunch of fake interactions to their mess of a situation.

“But what do you two want the public to see you as?” Harry’s publicist persisted nonetheless. “Are you dating, do you want to go further?”

“I’m not fake engaging Taylor,” Harry finally spoke up, a scandalised look on his face. “I’m not fake dating her either. We do have some decency.”

They hadn’t talked about what their relationship had now become. Since Taylor told him the news in London, he hadn’t tried to kiss her, and honestly, she didn’t _want_ him to. She didn’t want to start wanting Harry again.

“I’m not suggesting you fake it,” his publicist responded with a slight edge to her voice. “But I am asking: what _are_ you two?”

Their silence spoke louder than words.

“Our personal lives are nobody else’s business,” Taylor replied with authority, trying to steer them back on a safer course. “People are going to think whatever they want to think, no matter what we say. What I want to make clear is that I want privacy. I want my child to be safe, and not have their pictures plastered all over the pages of every trashy gossip magazine.”

“We can’t control every picture that might be taken, but we can come to an understanding with your family and friends–”

“We already have. Do you see personal photos of us all over Instagram?” Taylor leaned forward, with the same defiant confidence that had gotten her through tough meetings with her record label. “Our family and friends are not the issue here.”

While Harry looked impressed by the businesswoman standing her ground, his publicist – not so much. She smoothed a hand over the top of her head as she glanced down at the few papers in front of her, searching for a new place to begin.

“Career-wise, we know this isn’t going to be easy,” Taylor’s own publicist went on first. “Taylor’s currently not in the process of recording her next album – we’re still discussing extending her hiatus, but what are your plans, Harry?”

Surprised by being properly addressed, Harry sat up straighter. “Well… _Dunkirk_ comes out next summer. I’ll be doing some promo for that.”

“Musically,” his publicist continued for him, having regained her composure, “we’re on track for an album release in the earlier part of the year.”

“Touring?” hers asked.

“Unconfirmed, but likely to be a couple months later in the year.”

Taylor’s gaze moved to Harry, who looked uncomfortable being spoken about as if he weren’t there. He was fiddling with the ring on his thumb, only looking back up when she discreetly nudged her foot against his under the table, sharing with him a reassuring stare of solidarity.

_We’re in this together._

“We can manage it,” Harry spoke, eyes still locked on Taylor’s.

“You have music–”

“ _I_ also have music,” Taylor interrupted the blonde, thinking of the tracks she had hidden away in notebooks, voice memos and password-protected demos. She hadn’t been publicly creative in some time, but that didn’t mean she had created nothing at all.

“We can alternate our releases,” she suggested. “It won’t be perfect, but it’s manageable.”

At least, she _hoped_ it would be. It was what she was counting on: one then the other, giving them the opportunity to continue their work while still making sure their child wasn’t left alone. They would have plenty of support from both of their families, but it wouldn’t be the same as having the two of them there, together taking care of the baby.

They would try, though. Harry promised he would, and Taylor believed him.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

_‘Your baby's neck region is becoming more defined and developed, enabling lifting and turning of the now rounded head. The eyes are still forming, and while tiny, they are now covered by eyelids (they were exposed until this stage). The eyes will then remain closed for a large part of your pregnancy. Tiny external ears are still forming and are visible. The nasal passages are opened this week, and the tongue starts to form (although the mouth is still just a flat line on the surface). Your baby's organs are also forming.’_ _[©](http://www.essentialbaby.com.au/pregnancy/stages-of-pregnancy/pregnancy-week-by-week/weekly-guide-to-pregnancy-week-9-20100927-15t8s) _

Taylor rested a hand on her stomach as she read from her iPhone. Along with the few blogs of women who had been through pregnancy she had taken to reading, every week she read this one site, informing her just what was going on inside of her. It was interesting, if not a bit strange to think about. She was growing a whole new human being, who was always developing, just that little bit every day.

There was no noticeable change to her body as of yet, aside from in the tenderness of her breasts, which she was fairly sure nobody was looking at in any case. Not even Harry.

They didn’t even spend two whole days in New York together – Harry flew back to London, while Taylor managed to covertly catch up with a couple friends before making her way back to Nashville, where she felt less likely to be spotted. They were still texting, though things had been a little tense since she had finally admitted that she was releasing a single much sooner than he had been expecting, with his former bandmate, of all people.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Harry had demanded, hurt creasing his brow. “We’ve been talking about our careers – why didn’t you bring this up until now?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. It’s just one song,” Taylor had reasoned. “We’re not performing it. It’s just for a movie. It’s recorded and the video’s done – all before any of this happened. It’s not a big deal.”

“But why him?”

“Because we were asked if we wanted to? He was fun to work with? I don’t know, Harry, it just happened – relax!”

Relax he had not. Harry had left in a jealous mood after the argument; _he_ had always wanted to work with her, so why was it that _Zayn_ had gotten to?

Since then, Taylor had tried to push it out of her head. It _didn’t_ matter. Harry had no say in it. What was done, was done.

She had returned to stay with her parents over Thanksgiving. Her brother Austin was coming home for the holiday, too; she still hadn’t told him. She had no idea what to expect his reaction to be like.

He arrived on a Sunday morning, picked up by their father. Things went on as usual – or at least, what had become usual in the way their parents acted around Taylor now. There wasn’t a major difference – she hadn’t been shunned for her mistake – but a slight shift in the way they constantly made sure she was doing okay.

It was late in the day that Taylor managed to work up the courage to get her brother alone. Despite the cold, she suggested they go for a wander around outside, to talk without the listening ears of their parents, to let them say whatever they really wanted.

She still didn’t know how to lead into it. There never seemed to be a right way, so when Austin asked her opinion on whether or not he should get a cat of his own, since hers always seemed so fond of him, Taylor simply blurted out, “You’re going to be an uncle.”

Austin laughed like she was joking, ceasing when Taylor stopped walking across the damp grass of the backyard and looked at him seriously. “What, has Olivia gotten too cosy with a tomcat?”

Taylor shook her head. “Not Olivia. Me. I’m pregnant.”

He studied her face, and when he replied, “With a tomcat?” like a typical sibling, she gave him a hard punch in the arm.

“I’m not kidding!”

Glancing between her and the house behind them, Austin tried to make sense of what she was telling him. “I thought you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I’m not.”

“Then how…?”

“Would you like me to paint you a picture?” Resting her hand on his shoulder, Taylor guided him back into strolling along. “When two people are attracted to each other, sometimes they–”

“I get it!” Austin cut in, the image of his older sister engaging in intimacy certainly not one he needed. “I get it, but, who–”

“Harry.”

They were quiet for a moment, as he processed the revelation. “So that’s why mom and dad are acting weird,” Austin realised.

“Their good girl’s not so good anymore, is she?” Taylor replied mildly, and Austin put a reassuring arm around her, seeing through her tone that it bothered her.

“How long have you known?”

“I’m nine weeks. I would’ve told you earlier, but I wanted to tell you in person.”

He nodded; as they passed under an old tree, a drop of water from earlier rain dripped on his nose, which he brushed off as he thought. He seemed surprised, but unjudging.

“So you and Harry… are you together again?”

“I honestly have no idea,” she sighed. “He’s kind of pissed at me, I’m kind of pissed at him. That’s not a good way to start a relationship, is it?”

“No… but it’s honest, at least.”

Taylor actually laughed at that, surprising herself with the sound when every other time she had opened up about this, she had been in tears. “Y’know, he said he couldn’t picture you punching anyone, not even in my defence.”

“Oh, did he?” Austin grinned at her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “He’s got another thing coming.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Maybe a kick in the balls would be more appropriate.”

“True, but I think I’d appreciate it if you avoided hurting him in that particular region.”

“Taylor!”

Snickering as Austin pushed her away, Taylor flashed him a cheeky grin. “You’re the one who brought up his balls.”

“You’re the one who made the conversation worse.”

“I don’t know what you’re bothered about, I haven’t gone near them since September.”

“Argh!” Austin pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “The mental image is burning my eyes!”

Taylor tilted her head back as she laughed; this was much easier than she had been anticipating, though she should’ve known, really. Since they had grown to adults, the pair of them got along a lot better than they had in their earlier years, the age difference between them not seeming as much of a big deal anymore. As far as little brothers go, Taylor couldn’t have asked for a better one than Austin.

“Y’know, I don’t think mom and dad can look at me or Harry without imagining us together like that. It’s not like they didn’t know that we were… y’know… but now it’s real. They can’t even bring themselves to say his name.”

“I can’t say I blame them. Harry’s like the tattooed bad boy in this situation.”

“And I’m the dumb girl who fell into his trap, then?”

“You’re not dumb, Tay,” Austin assured her, giving her a friendly nudge. “You like him. That’s alright.”

“Is it? ‘Cause I feel like I’ve become the family mistake. The teen star gone wrong.”

“Fuck whatever anyone else says. Are you happy?”

“Happy? Am I _happy_ being knocked up by my ex?”

“Your ex that you still like.” He smiled at her teasingly; it was annoying that he was right. “Your ex that isn’t top of the list of those I’d punch.”

“How reassuring,” she replied dryly. “ _I’d_ punch him. I might just punch him next time I see him.”

“Not too hard. You don’t want to knock the sense out of him.”

“Aren’t _I_ supposed to be the one saying that?”

They smiled at each other, stopping their aimless wandering to face each other.

“Congratulations, Taylor,” Austin told her genuinely. She bit down on her lip, smile fading, and he tilted his head questioningly to the side.

“No one’s said that to me,” Taylor admitted quietly. Unplanned, it wasn’t the immediate reaction people had. Still, she hadn’t realised how much she had wanted to hear it until now.

When Taylor finally started to cry, Austin pulled her into a hug, and she was glad she had her brother on her side.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

On Thanksgiving night, over a dinner she helped her mother prepare, Taylor brushed a hand over her stomach.

“I’m thankful for my family, and for the family I’m going to have.”


	2. Chapter Two

“Where are you?”

“Are you trying to hit on me?” Taylor smiled to herself, book lying open over her stomach. She lowered her voice in mock seduction as she said, “I’m in bed.”

Through the speaker of her phone came Harry’s laughter, spreading a silly warmth through her limbs. “Which bed?”

“I think the next question is supposed to be _what are you wearing?”_

“I’m standing outside your house.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m outside your house. I wanted to surprise you, but you don’t seem to be here – unless you’re purposely not answering the door.”

Sitting herself further up, Taylor’s heart frustratingly started pumping faster. “I’m at my parents’. I can text you the address, if you don’t remember how to get here.”

“That’d be great, love.”

It wouldn’t take Harry long to get from her place to her parents’ – not nearly long enough to make herself look presentable for company that wasn’t simply her family.

Slipping her bookmark back between the pages of the novel she was reading, Taylor climbed out of bed to do the best she could. A swipe of mascara and lip gloss, a brush through her natural curls, a check that her jumper hadn’t gotten too creased where she had been laying down – god, did she really need to bother? Would Harry even notice anything about her?

They hadn’t seen each other since their awkward few days in New York, and now it was nearly Taylor’s birthday. She hadn’t wanted a big celebration, but she’d been talked into inviting some friends over for a night out – Harry included. She had assured him he didn’t need to come if he didn’t want to, but he had promised he would – only he hadn’t mentioned anything about coming early.

Taylor tried to be chill as she wandered down the stairs, unhurried, when there was a knock on the door. The dogs were barking (she could imagine the scowl on Meredith’s face up in the safety of her bedroom) and apparently didn’t want to stop, tails wagging at the prospect of company on the other side of the door. She tried to coax them away, whilst reminded of why she preferred her cats: they didn’t throw themselves on every visitor.

Their visitor looked rather handsome, with a woollen sweater and a scarf wrapped around his neck, hair fluffed from where he had no doubt slept on the flight over. He smiled at her, and she didn’t feel any of the cold air rushing in when she let him inside.

“What are you doing here?” Taylor asked once Harry had been thoroughly greeted by her parents’ dogs and they could finally manage a hug. He was warm and familiar, calming despite the small sense of panic that had struck her over the thought of seeing him again.

“Surprising you. Though I didn’t do a very good job of it,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Are you staying here permanently now?”

“Sort of.”

While it hadn’t really been discussed, Taylor had simply chosen to remain with her parents for the time being, finding comfort in not being on her own. They naturally welcomed her back in with welcome arms, though she got the sense that they would’ve preferred it if she had returned on different terms.

“Are your parents home now?” Harry checked as he pulled away, his hands still lingering on her waist.

“No,” she smiled reassuringly. “Dad’s working, and Austin went with mom to the mall. It’s just me here.”

She’d texted her mom a heads-up, though; whether they would stick around while Harry was here was another thing.

“Do you want anything? We can go up to my room?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

Up to her old bedroom they went, Harry pulling his suitcase up the stairs behind him. They shut the door on the dogs that followed, saving them from unwanted encounters with her cats, which almost exclusively stayed in her room.

Before he had arrived, Taylor had neatened things up; there hadn’t been much to do, save from tidy some books and discarded clothes, take an empty glass down to the kitchen. It was always a little strange being back in the bedroom she had grown up in, let alone bringing Harry in to see it too. Every time, it felt like she was exposing a secret part of herself.

They settled together on the bed, Harry giving Meredith, curled up on the end, a friendly scratch. The cat peered at him suspiciously; he probably smelled like the dogs he’d greeted.

“How’ve you been feeling?” Harry asked as she leaned back against the pillows, not quite as comfortable as she had been tucked up under the blankets with her book, but glad for his company. “You haven’t hurled at the sight of me, so that’s an improvement.”

Grinning, Taylor kicked him playfully with a socked foot, bringing an equally bright smile to his face as he squirmed. “That was pure coincidence.”

“ _Sure_.” After he slipped off his shoes, Harry shuffled up to sit beside her, their long legs stretched out side by side. “Are you still feeling sick?”

“I’m not about to hurl on you,” she promised him. Unfortunately, she was still expecting a couple more weeks of morning sickness; she just hoped it wouldn’t last. It wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences, to say the least.

“I’m holding you to that,” he smiled at her, and she could feel the heat of his body mere inches from hers, both thrilling and somewhat tentative. “Can you feel anything yet?”

“Not really, no. It’s still only really small.”

There were the occasional moments, little glimmers where she was never sure whether she had really felt anything at all. Maybe it was only her imagination. Or maybe she just needed to go to the bathroom.

Shifting onto his side, Harry looked supremely uneasy as he took the chance to rest his hand on her stomach regardless, as if she might suddenly shove him off the bed. Considering the sour note they had last left on and the uncertain grounds they tread, she didn’t blame him.

Taylor put her own hand on top of his, smiling reassuringly. He relaxed instantly.

“The doctor says you’re doing well?”

“Mhmm. Everything’s fine.”

He nodded, glad to hear it. “When can you tell whether it’s a girl or a boy?”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking I want it to be a surprise.”

There was reason to _want_ to find out the gender of their baby, but Taylor quite liked the idea of waiting. There was no rush. All the women before her had been perfectly fine not knowing what kind of clothing they needed to buy in advance.

Surprises weren’t exactly Harry’s favourite, though – he was happy to surprise _her_ , knowing she appreciated the sentiment, but he tended to like knowing what was ahead. He wasn’t always the best at keeping secrets, either, so it wasn’t like he could be told and expected not to tell for months.

“Is that okay with you?” Taylor asked, hoping he would agree.

“If it’s what you want, yeah,” Harry smiled at her, awfully charming.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said, hand still resting warmly on her stomach. “We don’t have to know beforehand. What are you hoping it is?”

“ _Well_ …” Taylor smiled a little secretly, giving his hand a gentle little squeeze. “It doesn’t really _matter_ , but… I think I’d like a girl.”

“Me too,” Harry admitted with a grin, the both of them giggling a little. Either way it went, they would adore the little one, but both of them could dreamily picture a beautiful girl in their arms, all curly hair and big blue eyes.

“I, um,” Harry spoke again, shyer. “I wanted to apologise for… about the song. I shouldn’t have… it wasn’t my place to have a say.”

Tilting her head, Taylor nodded slightly; she appreciated the apology for their last encounter, wanted just to move on. “It’s okay. I’m sorry you got totally jealous,” she replied teasingly, his jaw dropping at her evident lack of seriousness. He poked her in the side, making her squeal in surprise, the pair of them laughing as they prodded and tickled each other with a playfulness they had never grown out of.

Taylor ended up with her cheek pressed against Harry’s chest, his arms wrapped around her as they lay together. He was warm and comfortable – god, it was so cosy being cuddled up to him. She hadn’t thought she’d particularly missed him, but now…

“I _am_ jealous,” Harry eventually admitted, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you earlier. You know I didn’t plan it, right? We were just asked to do it.”

“Did they not think that maybe _we_ might sound better together?”

Looking up at him, she studied his features. “You really are jealous, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it,” he said, glancing away uncomfortably.

“Would it matter if it were anyone other than Zayn?” The suggestion made him look even _more_ uncomfortable, and she ran a hand up to gently touch his face, bringing his gaze back to hers. “It’s one song, for a movie I’m not even going to watch.”

That got him to crack a smile. “Why _are_ you doing a song for _Fifty Shades_? I get Zayn, but you? Are you trying to expose yourself as the seductress you are?”

With a cheeky pinch to her bum, it was Taylor’s turn to drop her jaw. “Excuse me!”

“You’re excused.”

“I am _so_ not a seductress.”

“Do you remember the time you wore that red dress and I ended up with scratches all down my back?”

“I most certainly do not,” she lied.

“What about the time we got really drunk and you went to give me a lap dance but you fell on the floor? You weren’t drunk enough to forget that.”

“Maybe I was.”

“You’re an awful liar,” Harry grinned at her. “’S alright. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Can we not have this conversation in my _parents’_ house, please?”

“Alright.” Rubbing his hand idly over her lower back, his smile was affectionate. “D’you think, maybe, we could do something together one day? I’ve always wanted to write with you.”

“Do you think anyone would _actually_ want to hear it?”

“I don’t think they would have a choice, when it goes to number one and it’s all over the radio.”

A smile lighting up her own face, Taylor chuckled at his confidence. He likely had a point: with their combined fanbases, they could easily record a song together that went straight to number one. But she was aware that there were fans of Zayn’s who would’ve much preferred it if she hadn’t been part of the collaboration for ‘I Don’t Wanna Live Forever’ – she knew the feeling would be stronger with Harry’s. No matter how good they sounded together – which they knew damn well they did – there would still be people who hated her, just because she was Taylor Swift.

God, she didn’t want to think about what they’d say when the world found out about all this.

“Maybe, after the baby, we could make an album of lullabies,” Harry mused, his hand still smoothing over her back. “You’re good at writing soothing stuff.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Taylor smiled up at him softly. At least they’d be catering to a different audience that wouldn’t especially care about who they were, as long as they sounded nice and got children to sleep. “We could test it out first, at least.”

“Can it hear us? Like, now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe when it’s bigger? I’m not really sure.”

“I’ll get to writing, so it’ll be ready for when it can.”

Still smiling, Taylor rested her head back against his chest. She found Meredith was still sitting at the end of the bed, staring at them with disdain. _So it’s like that again, is it?_

_Oh, go away,_ Taylor thought back. She could blame her content in cuddling up with him on her heightened hormones.

They had a while on their own before the dogs’ barking announced the arrival of company. Taylor led him downstairs to greet her mom and brother, Harry kindly offering to help with the shopping bags they had brought back. In the kitchen, Andrea gave him a hug; she was coming to terms with things more as time passed. She was rather pleased to see he was making an effort, coming to spend more time with Taylor than any of them had been expecting.

“What are your plans?”

“We’re gonna go to mine for a bit,” Taylor let her know, brushing her hair from her face. While they weren’t especially _close_ , it would be awkward staying with her parents regardless. Returning to her own place was best for all – the cats included.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on you,” Harry quickly put in. He had thought surprising Taylor would turn out well, but expecting her parents to welcome him as he dropped in unannounced was asking a little much.

“Stay for dinner,” Andrea insisted firmly. “There’s plenty to go around.”

Only because Taylor had warned her first, but that was beside the point.

“We’ve got some business to attend to first,” Austin said, attempting to give Harry a threatening eye. Taylor couldn’t hold back a giggle, which earned _her_ the punch in the arm he had been waiting to give.

“Don’t hit your sister,” their mother chastised, and Taylor stuck her tongue out at him when she looked away, resting a hand on her stomach. She now had a tiny safeguard, apparently.

Stepping around, Austin put an arm around Harry; he was taller and older, and Harry felt some unease, despite the underlying friendliness on Austin’s features. “I think we need to have a little talk.”

Taylor watched as the boys headed for the stairs, amused as she saw the good-natured fist tap against Harry’s arm. She wasn’t nearly as concerned as she had been when Harry spoke to her parents: she was sure Austin wasn’t going to go hard on him.

Later, when she stopped outside Austin’s closed bedroom door, she heard the two of them laughing together, and she was thankful for the both of them.

 

*** * * * *  
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On the morning of her birthday, Taylor woke up with a cat having spread itself up against her back, taking advantage of her body heat. She was back in her own bed, alone – though the blankets on the other side were crumpled from where Harry had already risen.

She could hear him downstairs in the kitchen, preparing breakfast despite her earlier insistence that he really needn’t do anything for her. She doubted their other house guest was up: Ed, who had arrived in Nashville two days ago and had happily relaxed into the casual company of two of his closest friends. There had been a moment where she wondered why the three of them didn’t do this more often, but the answer to that was so obvious she wanted to roll her eyes at her own passing ignorance.

By the time Taylor dragged herself out of the cosy wrap of her blankets, giving in to the queasiness that troubled her stomach every morning, Harry had returned with mugs of tea in his hands, intending on a lovely little good morning. Instead, he was setting them down on the nightstand and hurrying to the ensuite, frowning as he found her kneeling down on the tiled floor.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He dropped down beside her, holding her hair back away from her face. Taylor sniffled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she looked at him.

“Nice start to my day,” she answered sarcastically, and they shared a smile.

“Happy birthday, Tay.”

Even with the taste of vomit in her mouth, they hugged each other on the bathroom floor; perhaps it wasn’t the worst way to kick off her birthday after all.

Helping her to her feet, Harry got her a glass of water while she flushed and washed her face, stopping to put her contacts in while she was in front of the mirror. She rinsed her mouth out and took a few careful sips of water, testing her stomach before she tried the thoughtful cup of tea he’d made for her.

“I thought we’d wait for Ed before starting breakfast,” Harry said when they returned to the warmth of her bed. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah. Eating right away isn’t really the best idea, anyway.” She felt fine, really, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

When he held his arm out, beckoning her, Taylor gladly tucked herself up against him, cradling her hot mug in her hands as they leaned back against the headboard. Yeah, this wasn’t a bad way to begin her birthday at all.

“I’m sorry,” he told her gently after a moment, and she tilted her head up to him in confusion.

“What for?”

“For… _you know_. I hate seeing you like that, knowing I did it to you.”

“What’s a bit of vomit between friends?” Taylor smiled at him, a fondness lingering within. While she was joking, his apology _meant_ something to her. To know that he cared about how she was doing… well, that was a birthday present in itself.

“I feel okay. You really don’t have to feel bad, alright?” she assured him, taking a small sip of her tea.

“I just wish there was something more I could do.”

“You could keep making me tea.” Resting her head back against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and smiled contentedly. “I’m quite happy like this.”

“’M glad to hear that.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re getting so _old_.”

“How flattering of you to say so,” she replied dryly.

“Twenty-seven. You’ll have grey hair before you know it.”

“You’ll have _no_ hair before you know it, at this rate,” she quipped, his laughter shaking his chest underneath her. Holding her mug in one hand, she reached up to run her other through his dark locks, soft between her fingers. He would happily have her do that all day.

“How kind of you.”

“That’s what you get for making fun of me on my birthday.”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Harry smiled, resisting the urge to kiss her on the forehead like he really wanted to. As she nuzzled back up to him, he wondered how on earth he was going to be able to control himself if they were going to be like _this_ again.

It wasn’t really a surprise. Rather, if anything, it was a good sign. They needed to get along if they were going to be successful parents, and if that meant they reconnected romantically… well. Could they complain about that?

They cuddled together for a while, sipping their tea, until Ed poked his messy head through the half open door. He didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at the sight of them so close together, but then again, he had known the both of them for many years now. He’d seen their ups and downs, and whatever the heck they were now.

Having made his preparations earlier, Harry only had to pour the pancake mixture into a pan, while the others sat chatting in the kitchen with him. He cooked a large stack, refusing to let Taylor help in any way. She rolled her eyes, but she appreciated his determination to treat her.

Birthday girl getting the first pick, the boys watched on with raised brows as she piled her plate and topped her stack off with an excessive amount of whipped cream. She shook some rainbow sprinkles on top of the white swirling mound, rather pleased with her decoration. The boys across from her, however, didn’t seem to entirely share her enthusiasm.

“What?”

“Your whipped cream is nearly as tall as your pancakes,” Ed pointed out.

“It’s going to drown the flavour of them,” Harry thought, a slight line between his brows.

“Are you kidding me?” Taylor quirked her eyebrows back at them. “You’re males! You’re _supposed_ to like this sort of thing.”

“I thought you were being careful with your stomach,” Harry reminded her. The sugary sweet breakfast in front of her did not look careful.

“I’m eating for two people here. Are you going to deprive us of the whipped cream we deserve?”

Neither had been expecting her to speak so openly; they weren’t going to argue. Instead, Harry went to fetch her Polaroid camera, snapping a picture of her that one day they might show their unborn child.

Ed already knew. While he was in London early on, Harry had blurted it out, needing a friend to confide in. Taylor hadn’t minded: Ed was going to find out from one of them sooner or later anyway. It was easier not having to keep a secret while the three of them stayed together now.

There was still a hint of awkwardness, though, as Ed stayed in a guest room while Harry was in with Taylor – only because none of them were quite clear on what was going on between the latter.

After they polished off their pancakes, Taylor smugly finishing off everything on her plate, whipped cream and all, they went off to get themselves ready before any more company arrived. Ed went to take a shower, while Harry brought Taylor back up to her bedroom and made her sit down with her eyes closed.

“Don’t be doing what I think you’re doing,” she said as she heard him searching through his suitcase on the floor.

But of course, he was. After a few moments, he sat beside her, handing over a small stack of neatly wrapped presents, each decorated with a pink ribbon, proudly done by Harry himself. Opening her eyes with his permission, her heart squeezed at the sight.

“I told you you didn’t have to get me anything,” Taylor reminded him quietly, feeling a small twinge of guilt.

“I wanted to,” Harry smiled at her warmly, resting a hand on her lower back.

There were four gifts, ordered from biggest to smallest. Taylor set them carefully beside her, taking the top one and slowly beginning to unwrap it, knowing quite well why he had ignored her insistence he needn’t buy her anything; she would’ve done the same.

A pair of socks with a cat motif and the slogan ‘check meowt’ had her laughing, as well as the t-shirt covered in cute little pictures of cartoon cats (yes, for someone who could get whatever they wanted, she was rather easy to buy for). The next was a box of chocolates that tugged at her heartstrings when she realised he had specially gone to the trouble to have twenty-seven inside; it reminded her of the first birthday he’d been there to share four years ago. God, they’d come a long way since then.

That simple gesture got to her emotions, but not nearly as much as the last present she had to unwrap. It was heavier than the rest; once she got the paper off, she ran a hand over the smooth hardcover. A photo album – a _baby_ photo album, decorated with a splattering of painted flowers. Taylor bit down on her lip, feeling the onset of tears in her eyes.

Harry, his gaze fixed on her, noticed her sudden quietness, the sheen of her eyes, and he rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, soft as he said, “Please don’t cry.”

She laughed a bit at that, shaking her head as she still clutched the empty album in her hands. “Hormones,” she simply clarified, looking up at him with a small smile.

“I thought we could… it’d be nice to have a place to put pictures, instead of just on our computers,” he felt he had to explain. “And you’ve got your Polaroid camera, so…”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Wrapping each other in a hug, Taylor sighed as she rested her chin on his shoulder. There were moments when she realised just how real all of this was. Sometimes, like now, it didn’t totally terrify her.

“You know,” Taylor smiled softly as she pulled away, “it’s… it’s going to be fun going baby shopping.”

A wider smile broke out on Harry’s face at the thought. “Can I come with you?”

“Only if you don’t pick any _‘daddy’s my favourite’_ shirts.”

“I’ve already got a bunch of them ordered, in every colour.”

Giggling, she shook her head, hair swishing by her face. Ever so gently, Harry reached out to tuck a lock behind her ear, fingertips grazing over her jaw. His green eyes gleamed with a fondness she had sorely missed.

Even before he made the move, she knew it was coming. She had been waiting, wondering when he might take the risk again. He had been holding back for her sake, not wanting to complicate things any further, as if initiating some sort of romantic relationship was going to make her feel _worse_.

It was only a short kiss. Harry’s lips were soft on hers, her nose brushing cold against his skin, and both longed for something more. She hadn’t kissed anyone since that September night; Harry was the only one who populated her thoughts, snuck his way into her dreams. It was him she wanted, even if her mind kept fighting between _stay away_ and _it’s too late for that_.

A little breathless, Harry’s small smile was marked with shyness. “Is that okay?”

She hadn’t pushed him away, but maybe he was just being polite. For all of Taylor’s overthinking, Harry was sure doing a lot of it himself.

“Not really,” Taylor answered, and before his alarm could fully overcome his face, she slipped her hand round to the back of his neck and pulled him back in for a longer kiss, one that properly let them reacquaint themselves with the familiar feeling of each other’s touch.

Sliding his arms around her waist and encouraging her closer, Harry’s smile worked its way back onto his lips, pressing against hers. “Scared the shit out of me,” he mumbled, making her giggle back into his mouth. They always had liked teasing each other; it cut through some of the unease that permanently lingered in the backs of their minds.

Once was never enough: setting the photo album on her lap aside, Taylor scooted onto his lap, the taste of each other’s lips always sparking a desire for more. Harry leaned back, both laughing as they fell onto the unmade blankets, entangling themselves in the way they had both yearned for but had been too apprehensive to instigate. 

Too easily lost in each other, they forgot they weren’t alone anymore. With their bodies flush and mouths pressed warmly together, Ed was rather surprised this time when he popped back up in the open doorway, a towel around his shoulders catching drops from his dripping hair. Evidently, a lot could change in the time it took to shower.

The slight clearing of his throat had them springing apart, a flush rising in Taylor’s cheeks as she scrambled to prop herself up more respectably. Ed merely glanced between them, taking in their red lips and partly dishevelled appearances with an amused twitch of the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve got something for you,” he told Taylor. “When you’re ready.”

“Okay,” she replied steadily.

As soon as he turned away, Taylor looked to Harry, locking gazes for a few silent seconds before they burst into a fit of giggles. It was like before, when nothing mattered so much; it felt good to be okay again.

 

*** * * * ***

 

“I should’ve practiced first,” Taylor realised when they later arrived at their night’s destination: a local roller skating rink.

When it had come to deciding what to do for her birthday, a lot of options had been ruled out. She didn’t feel like having a proper house party, or going to a club – not when she couldn’t drink, and especially not when she was yet to tell everyone why. It had to be something low-key, but still entertaining. Abigail had helped brainstorm, and somewhere amongst their sugar high from their afternoon spent baking, roller skating had come up. Neither of them were very good at it, having only been a couple times in their teens, but the idea had stuck, and on December 13th, here they were.

Renting an entire skating rink out for a night wasn’t exactly what most would call low-key, but privacy was a necessity that Taylor wasn’t willing to take chances on. There was obviously going to be staff, but after speaking to the manager, she felt assured that nobody was going to be leaking any pictures or videos of her and her friends, most likely falling on their asses.

She’d asked her bodyguard to come along for the night, unnecessarily luring him with the promise of cake, just in case. She doubted they would have any drama – a perusal of Twitter the night before had given no indication that anyone had let any details slip, and honestly, who expected to find Taylor at a _roller skating rink_ on her twenty-seventh birthday?

“ _We_ should’ve practiced first,” Abigail corrected, walking by her side as they headed for the entrance. The group had gathered at Taylor’s first, friends arriving at varying intervals, dumping bags and offering gifts; some would stay longer than others, depending on where their careers had them jetting off to next.

“We can’t do _that_ badly. It’s easier than ice skating,” Taylor reaffirmed, the same thing they had said when they had come up with the idea. The greater width on the bottom of the skates surely equalled better stability.

“You should’ve picked ice skating,” Harry cut in to the conversation; he was walking behind them with Ed and Austin, having taken the same car that had gotten them there first.

“Oh, you would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you?” Taylor spoke over her shoulder. She knew he could ice skate well, and could only hope his skills didn’t transcend to the wheels they were about to put on.

Inside, Taylor was greeted warmly by the manager, having come to make sure everything went to plan over the course of the next few hours. They’d decorated the place without her having requested: streamers had been hung and balloons bobbed in the air, a ‘Happy Birthday’ banner strung up along one of the walls. Birthday parties were a regular occurrence at the rink, but none were quite as noteworthy as this.

A glamourous group filled with musicians and models, dressed in designer clothing that wasn’t usually donned in such a place, they could’ve easily gone anywhere exclusive they fancied. Not a single one didn’t like the prospect of spending a night out like normal twenty-somethings, messing around somewhere casual with greasy food and pints from the open bar.

They each collected a pair of skates from the counter, leaving belongings scattered among the tables outside the rink without fear of anything being touched. Taylor was pushed out onto the rink first, and was rather pleased with herself when she managed not to fall down straight away. Not like Ed, who barely made it a few feet from the entrance before he toppled down, though that was likely to do with Harry’s playful nudge in the ribs throwing him off balance.

As expected, Harry glided on past Taylor in no time at all, as if skates were a natural part of him. “ _Asshole_ ,” she called out to him cheerily, and Harry’s grin merely deepened.

In all honestly, Harry had been a little apprehensive about his invitation. He _wanted_ to be included, wanted to get to know her friends better, to make this sort of thing normal for them. He just wasn’t sure of the sort of reception he would get: girls could be especially protective, and he doubted that accidentally getting one of them knocked up was going to get him in good graces with the rest.

To his relief, he was mostly welcomed warmly, though he got the feeling the few girls who were a little… _off_ with him were the ones that knew their secret.

There was also the matter of his ex-bandmate being invited, which had certainly made him uneasy.

“I couldn’t not invite him!” Taylor had insisted when he had brought it up in the days beforehand. “He’s Gigi’s boyfriend, and we just released a song together – it would’ve been rude! Besides, he might not even come.”

Zayn hadn’t, likely having gotten word of Harry’s expected presence, which was probably for the best. The two barely spoke anymore, and it would’ve been awkward to avoid each other in such a small crowd.

Still, Harry was intending on sticking by Taylor’s advice: “Just hang out with Ed, get drunk together, have some fun.”

Harry and Ed mostly stayed together, in amid the girls who outnumbered the group. Taylor loved getting to see her friends again, catching up with Selena and Ella, Karlie and Gigi and Martha, Alana and Danielle and Este. She spoke with them all regularly, of course, but it wasn’t the same as being there in person. For one, you couldn’t hug your phone.

It was much more fun in person, too. The rink was filled with the sounds of voices and laughter; some were more successful at skating than others. They glided along holding hands, twirling around, and slipping on their asses, all with an upbeat pop soundtrack playing through the speakers.

“We should’ve had a 70’s theme,” Selena suggested belatedly; their surrounds certainly warranted it, with the brightly painted furnishings reflecting the activity’s most popular era.

“Ooh, you would’ve rocked some hot pants,” Gigi laughed, giving Taylor a good slap on the ass. Yelping, she rolled forward, lost her balance, and fell to her knees to the sound of more amusement, glad that she had wisely decided to wear jeans tonight. She’d have bruises – many of them would – but at least the polished floor wasn’t ripping directly at any skin.

There was a selection of birthday-worthy food: burgers, hot dogs, pizza, fries, that all went down well with the crowd. Taylor was careful not to accept any drinks from anyone, ordering her own Diet Coke that was vodka-free, though not everyone had to know that. She’d slip anything she was unsure of off to Harry or Ed, who would be more than happy to take whatever she gave them. At least she wasn’t going to have to avoid any rounds of shots; while there was a bar to cater to the older patrons that skated at night, it wasn’t that kind of place.

The thing with being a popular musician was that it was inevitable that every now and then, you were going to hear one of your songs play in public. There was plenty of opportunity for the few they had at this gathering – Harry was the lucky first, who had all heads turning his way when his own voice started playing through the speakers at one point in the night.

“Sing for me!” Taylor called out to him from the sidelines, grinning with the rest of them giving him their teasing reactions.

_“If I didn’t have you, there would be nothing left!”_ Harry joined in with the next line, putting on a rather dramatic performance of ‘Drag Me Down’ on the rink, skating around with flourishes and serenading a few of the girls, finishing with a neat bow to a round of applause. She was relieved to see him enjoying himself, though she did wonder how much he had had to drink.

Ed also had his turn with ‘Sing’ – though he wasn’t nearly as flashy as Harry had been, choosing not to make a fool of himself by trying to copy _that_. It was only a matter of time before ‘Shake It Off’ made its way onto the track list, where Taylor was dragged into a dancing ring the moment the too familiar beat began pumping through the speakers.

Taylor hadn’t quite realised just how much she had missed feeling like this. Laughing, dancing with her friends, without a single care for anything else for a few lively hours. She felt like her normal self again.

Only Harry was there, which wasn’t normal, but he was messing around with her friends and her brother like they did this all the time, so maybe it could be.

He was being careful not to be too obvious, resisting touches, not gluing himself to her side the whole night, though anyone who looked at him when he was watching Taylor would be able to see it in his eyes. That admiration that constantly shone there whenever his gaze fell upon her, that smile he’d been trying years to hide but had never quite learned how. Half the time he didn’t even know he was doing it, and perhaps most heart-wrenchingly, neither did she.

When he stopped to comb her wild hair back with his fingers, though, she saw it. Her hair having been straightened for the night, it was beginning to repel its taming after all her skating exertion, her wild loose locks beginning to curl again. Harry had always preferred it natural; sometimes she did too. As they paused for a moment by the rink’s edge, she wished she had left it alone.

“You’re wonderful,” he told her, lowering his voice for it to stay between them. Not ‘you _look_ wonderful’, but ‘you _are_ wonderful’. The sentiment, matched with the softness of his eyes, had Taylor’s heart leaping, longing for him to tell her more, to kiss her, to _stay_.

Instead, she simply smiled and thanked him, and when she turned back to resume skating around the ring, she let him get a stride ahead of her, breaking the tenderness of the moment by resting her hands on his shoulders and, with little regard to safety, unexpectedly jumped on his back.

Both of them nearly ended up on the floor. Cursing loudly, Harry tried his best to maintain his balance as Taylor clung onto him, trying to shimmy her way up his back into a more comfortable spot after her leaping attempt didn’t turn out so well (roller skates weren’t made for jumping). He grabbed the backs of her thighs and helped boost her up, miraculously leaving them both uninjured as he managed to stay on his feet.

“What the fuck?” Harry was laughing as she safely wrapped her arms about his neck once happily settled in the piggyback.

“Mush!” Taylor declared, thrusting one fist upwards in enthusiastic command.

“Mush?!” He grinned over his shoulder, peering up at her. “You’re insane!”

“Yeah, and I want a ride!”

She kicked her legs to encourage him forward, until he cut her off with an, “Alright, alright!” before the motion could throw them off.

It wasn’t so successful, trying to skate around as usual with an extra weight on the back. Harry felt a bit like a turtle with her on board, while Taylor felt like a plane, arms outstretched to try to help keep their balance.

They managed alright for a while, finding their shared centre of balance, until there came video evidence of Harry falling face first, Taylor screaming as she went down with him, crushing him underneath her.

“That really hurt,” she whined, rubbing her knees that had smacked into the ground once she rolled off of him.

“You’re telling me.” Harry sat up, brushing his hands on his jeans as he quickly scanned her over, initially disregarding his own pained limbs. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she smiled at him reassuringly. “I’m sorry.”

“’S okay,” he grinned back.

He leaned in a little closer, stroking a hand over her shin, and as the thought of him climbing atop her and kissing her right in the middle of the lane popped into her head, she was thankful for the immediate interruption.

Despite their own attempt not ending well, a race was suggested: a one lap piggyback, winners get extra cupcakes (the manager had organised a generous plate of chocolate cupcakes, ‘Happy Birthday Taylor’ spelt out with decorative icing). Those who were game enough (or tipsy enough) paired off, and they formed a starting line by the entrance to the rink.

“This is a horrible idea,” Taylor voiced to Abigail who ended up beside her, propped up on her fiancé’s back. “I’m going to die on my birthday.”

“Thanks for the faith in me,” Harry retorted, giving her thigh a squeeze. In turn, she tightened her grip on his shoulder; of course she’d remained with him.

“It’s been a good twenty-seven years, hasn’t it?” Abigail smiled at her. And it had been, truly, though she was hoping for more.

The game was a mess. With Este counting down, they fumbled their way forward, only Harry and Taylor having the advantage of having tried it before. It didn’t help much, what with the bunched up blob they went in as they all tried to take the shortest route around the corner, nudging and deliberately trying to push the competition off. It surely didn’t pass safety standards, but none of the staff tried to stop them, likely too entertained by the ridiculous sight to put a stop to it.

While most fell, nobody got seriously injured; nothing but a bit of fun. Karlie, with Ella on her back, managed to make it all the way around – the balance Karlie had earned with her ballet training had clearly paid off, meriting them both cupcakes and bragging rights.

By midnight curfew, they were bruised, sated, some drunk, and all thoroughly in good spirits. Taylor was glad she hadn’t decided to have a quiet night in on her own after all – she needed this. She needed to feel normal again, to be reminded of just how much support she had. No matter what anyone said, she knew she had friends who would stay by her side, friends who knew her truth.

Back at her house, they stayed up talking, drinking hot chocolate and snacking on Christmas cookies Taylor had already started baking, until exhaustion won them over. Dispersing, they took turns in bathrooms, calling dibs on guest rooms and couches.

Taylor changed in her own bedroom, slipping into the comfort of her pyjamas. There were already bruises on her knees, likely to darken overnight; luckily it was too cold to be showing off her legs this time of year.

She had left the door ajar – she always did, allowing her cats to pass through in the night if they so pleased – and could hear voices floating down the hall. She recognised Harry’s laughter, the sound of his approaching footsteps, and wasn’t the least bit surprised when he nudged the door further open and leaned against the frame, already smiling as he peered inside.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Taylor smiled back. He was yet to change, and when he made no move to join her inside her room, she stepped over to him. “What’s up?”

He couldn’t stop smiling at her, and looking at his glazed over eyes, she realised that perhaps he and Ed had taken advantage of the open bar more than she’d thought. They weren’t as drunk as she’d seen them before – the hot chocolate had helped to sober those who had been drinking – but there was the definite look of more than tipsiness about him.

“I was thinking,” he said, tipping his head forward as he lowered his voice, “did you want me to go sleep somewhere else tonight? While your friends are here?”

His unexpected and yet needless thoughtfulness had her smile widening. “I think they’ve already worked it out.”

“What, that you’re–”

“Not that,” she quickly interrupted. He was being quiet, but not _that_ quiet. “That we’re… you know…”

Actually, neither of them _did_ know. That fact didn’t seem to matter, though, since Harry’s dimples deepened and he moved in closer to slide his arms about her waist.

“I was hoping you’d say that, ‘cause I _really_ want to kiss you again.”

Giggling at his honesty, they stumbled backwards, pushing the door almost shut behind them, Taylor’s perfect night sealed with the long goodnight kisses she had been dreaming of.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Taylor woke late without the headache of some, but she wasn’t feeling all that much better. Groaning as she rolled onto her back, Harry stirred beside her, turning his face toward the pillow while his arm lay limp across her stomach. As warm as it was lying so close together under the blankets, she wasn’t all that keen on the weight of his arm reminding her of the uneasiness churning underneath it.

On the verge of waking anyway, Harry’s eyes flickered open when she tried to discreetly shift his arm off her. He frowned, undoing her effort as he snuggled closer to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Taylor sighed, finding slight relief in the fond greeting.

“Good morning,” Harry murmured, raspy morning voice as attractive as ever. It didn’t help that he nosed through her tangle of curls to pepper her throat with soft kisses. “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” Taylor exhaled, closing her eyes as she relaxed into the tenderness of his touch. With silent agreement, they hadn’t slept together last night, but they had certainly kissed for quite some time. The beginning of heat was already building back up between her thighs as his lips trailed across her throat, and in a rush she wanted to feel him on top of her again, his trapped arousal rubbing against her like last night.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked when he reached the other side of her neck; he knew how much she liked being kissed this way, the damn tease.

“Like all my friends are about to hear me throw up, and I didn’t even drink last night,” she replied honestly, making him chuckle and raise his head.

There were signs of life coming from downstairs, though she hadn’t a clue who was still on this floor to hear the messy sounds of her morning sickness.

“I’ll distract you,” Harry smiled at her sleepily, running his hand up to her cheek as he kissed her mouth slowly. It was a lovely good morning, and she smiled against his lips, though his efforts were unfortunately not as successful as he was hoping for.

“Now I’m just afraid of throwing up into your mouth,” she mumbled, grinning as he quickly broke away.

“ _Yuck_ ,” he laughed with a shake of his head. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“No. But I’m really not feeling well.”

She shifted slightly; as soon as she got up, there was no doubt to where she was headed.

“Is there anything I can do?” Harry asked, brushing her bangs back with gentle fingers. “I can get you some more water, or will eating a little something help? Plain toast, maybe?”

The thought of ingesting anything had her swallowing hard. “I don’t think so.”

He nodded, his concerned expression making her wonder just how much of the unsettlement in her stomach was playing out on her face.

“I think we should just announce it,” Taylor blurted out, making his look turn to surprise. “I’m going to tell them all anyway – I mean, I’m far enough along now, and they’re all here, so we may as well. I don’t like keeping secrets from my friends.”

“Okay,” he easily agreed; it wasn’t his choice, anyway. “We’ll tell them. Let me come hold your hair back for you first.”

Cold air swept under the blankets as he sat up, and she hugged herself as she looked up at him. “Seriously?”

“If I can’t do anything else, I can at least hold your hair. What’s a bit of vomit between friends, eh?”

Taylor couldn’t help her smile, and when she finally crawled out of bed, Harry was right behind her, sweeping up the strands of her hair and holding them back from her face as she inevitably heaved into the toilet. He made no complaint, not even when she thought she was done only to be struck by another round, rubbing her back soothingly with a quiet, “That’s my girl. Let it out.”

_My girl_.

She was his, she was having his baby, and in his kindness in the moment she thought he was never going to leave her to deal with this alone again.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

Of course he did. Of course he fucking did.

Harry, like the rest of her friends, went home for the holidays. She didn’t care about that: she had her own family to be with, and she wasn’t yet ready to be inviting him over for a big Swift/Styles shared Christmas. It was after, when she felt like complete shit, that she cared.

Before New Year’s, Taylor came down with what she first thought was a cold, that turned out to be much worse. Forced to bail on the small get together she was planning on going to at Abigail and her fiancé Matt’s place in fear of infecting everyone and spoiling the celebration, she had her most miserable New Year’s Eve to date, curled up on her couch under a blanket, trying to watch TV while intermittently having to get up to empty the bucket she kept on the floor ready for the regular waves of nausea that plagued her. She was home alone, not even her cats wanting to be in the same room as her. It was disgusting and depressing, meanwhile all her friends were off having fun, no matter where they were in the word.

If crying her way into the new year was any indication of the year to come, she already didn’t want any part of it.

She knew she couldn’t really be pissed at Harry, but she was. Over text, she had told him she wasn’t feeling well, and when he’d offered to come back to visit, she’d vehemently declined. She didn’t want anyone, let alone him, seeing her like this; she stopped replying to all her texts as frequently, partly hoping no one would notice and wishing that someone would.

The someone who did was her mom, who had been worried ever since Taylor had left after Christmas, keeping her cold away from their healthy lungs. After a few days, she insisted on checking in with her, stopping by with some homemade soup, and was appalled by the state Taylor was in.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?”

“I thought it would just go away,” Taylor had replied weakly, after being shoved into having a shower. She hadn’t stood up for that long in days and it had made her light-headed, but she was admittedly glad for the cleanliness and change of clothes; she hadn’t bothered on her own.

“You’re pregnant, Taylor, you have to take better care of yourself.”

With Taylor promptly bursting into tears, Andrea had had to sit Taylor back down, trying to calm her down before taking her to a much-needed trip to the doctor. A hasty phone call had fortunately landed a quick booking, and despite Taylor’s reluctance to leave the house looking and feeling as she did, it was worth the effort.

With some antibiotics in her system, the virus she had picked up from god knows where cleared up within days. She didn’t feel fantastic, but she was only throwing up in the morning again, and that she could handle.

Her recovery came just in time for her promised trip to London to see Harry and his family. She could’ve broken it, pleading illness and rescheduling, but getting out of the house was probably good for her, and like it or not, she had spent the weeks after Harry left missing him.

And besides, she wanted to see his family again. It had been years since she had last seen his mum, who had been so kind to her the last time they’d stayed. For all her mixed feelings for Harry, she wanted to see her again, at least.

Arriving at his door a short while after dinner time – she liked to travel during the day and land at night, where darkness could offer her some protection – Taylor knew she was far from looking her best. With fleece leggings and a long-sleeved shirt layered underneath a warm sweater, her hair loose in a mess of natural curls and her glasses on, she actually looked rather adorable, if not for the lingering paleness of her complexion as a stark indication of her recently being unwell.

Harry’s surprise was evident when he let her inside. He hadn’t known how horrible she had felt; the last thing he was expecting was to see her look thinner than when he last saw her, even under the thickness of her clothes.

“ _Taylor_ ,” he sighed in saddened shock, pulling her into a hug. “Sweetheart, you look awful.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” Taylor replied dryly, eyes fluttering briefly closed at the familiar warmth of his embrace.

“How are you feeling?” he asked regardless, a hand smoothing over the small of her back.

“Better now.”

Gently guiding them apart, Harry’s brow furrowed as he looked her up and down, checking whether she was being honest. Apparently satisfied that she wasn’t about to keel over, he cupped her face and kissed her surely, protectively, and if she didn’t feel better before, well, that certainly would’ve done the trick.

“Come sit down, love. Can I get you anything? I wasn’t sure whether you’d have already eaten – I’ve got some tomato soup, if you’d like it? Or just some tea, maybe?”

“Some tea would be nice, thank you,” Taylor smiled at him. She’d somewhat been expecting a fuss – her mom had certainly done just that – and it was nice to be reminded that he cared.

While the kettle boiled, Harry took her things into his bedroom, insisting she sit down and stay put. Slipping out of her sneakers, Taylor curled up without protest, relieved to not be expected to do anything.

A steaming mug soon in hand, Taylor smiled thankfully as Harry plopped down beside her, running an affectionate hand over her thigh. He let her sip for a little while in silence before he spoke.

“It was more than a cold, wasn’t it?” he said quietly, realisation that she’d omitted the truth dawning on him, and with her smile fading, she gave a small nod.

“Just a virus. I’m feeling much better now, though.”

“Did you see your doctor?”

“Uh huh. My mom took me.”

“How’s the baby?”

Opening her mouth to speak, she quickly closed it again. The baby. God, she should’ve known he was going to ask about the baby.

“It’s fine. I’m drinking lots of water and taking some vitamins to make up for what I lost.”

“That’s what your doctor said?”

“She said to drink water and eat as much fresh food as I can keep down, yes.”

“You… didn’t eat?”

“Of course I tried to! I didn’t want to, but I tried for the baby.”

As shit as she’d felt, Taylor had forced herself to eat small things relatively regularly, hoping the baby would take the nutrients it needed before she threw it all back up again. She wasn’t completely irresponsible, and was a little offended he seemed to think she was.

“I’ve already felt like I’ve fucked things up, so you don’t have to try to make it worse, okay?”

“I’m not trying to,” Harry said slowly, brows narrowing a tad in confusion. “I’m just worried.”

“Well you don’t have to be.”

He was fairly sure he did – that he had a right to be, at least. Her change in tone was unnerving.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked tentatively.

“I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t.”

They lulled into silence, Taylor glad to have her cup of tea as a distraction. Harry’s hand was still resting on her thigh, palm radiating warmth through the fabric of her leggings. She felt obligated to say something, so she asked when they were planning on driving up to see his parents, making simpler conversation.

While she hadn’t asked, Harry ended up telling her about his New Year’s Eve, which was a grave mistake on his part. She hadn’t asked because she hadn’t wanted to hear how he’d enjoyed the night with his mates, getting drunk as they chilled out. Whether her jealousy was right or not, that didn’t stop the bitterness she’d felt wallowing in her own self-pity during those lonely days from resurfacing.

“It’s a shame you couldn’t come,” Harry said genuinely. While she had been feeling okay when he had offered the invitation to join him in London for New Year’s, Taylor had politely declined, thinking it best she stay in Nashville. It hadn’t been a big deal; he didn’t try to make her go. They were going to have plenty of new years ahead of them, after all.

“A sick pregnant woman kind of ruins the party vibe,” she replied plainly, running her finger along one of the gold stripes on her mug, focusing her gaze anywhere but on him.

“Your vibe’s not looking so great right now, either,” he thought lightly, gently nudging her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t really want to hear about your New Year’s, Harry,” Taylor told him outright.

He looked affronted. “O- _kay_.”

“I spent mine alone, Harry,” she emphasised, sure that he didn’t understand her reasoning. “Alone, and sick, and it was shit, okay? It was really, really shit.”

“I’m sorry.” He frowned as he always did when trying to focus. “But you told me you didn’t want me to come see you. You barely answered my texts.”

“Maybe because I was too busy trying not to throw up all over my goddamn house!”

Taking a deep breath, Taylor exhaled slowly through her nose. She didn’t want to fight – why was she picking a fight?

“You told me you didn’t need me.” Harry’s voice was steady, but there was a note that sounded unsure.

“I didn’t. There wasn’t anything you or anyone else could’ve done, but don’t you think it would’ve been nice if someone had tried? If someone had come anyway and made me feel like I _mattered?_ ”

Harry put his arm around her and she stiffened underneath his touch. If he thought he could fix her feelings with a kiss, he had another thing coming.

“Of course you matter, Taylor.”

“How can you say that?” Words sitting on the tip of her tongue, things she’d thought in her miserable solitude – she didn’t want to speak them to his face, but once she started, she couldn’t stop. “How can you say that when you know the only reason I’m here is because I’m pregnant?”

“That’s not true,” Harry pleaded, quickly realising he wasn’t in for the night he’d been hoping for. Damn it, why could she not come here and get along with him?

“Isn’t it? You think we’d still be in contact if I wasn’t?” she challenged. “I know you, Harry – I know _us_.”

“I’m not just trying to sleep with you,” he still insisted.

“You’re not trying to sleep with me because I’m fucking pregnant!”

They both knew that wouldn’t stop him. Harry only hadn’t made a move on her because she hadn’t given him any signals that she really wanted it; he wasn’t one to force a woman into something she didn’t want, and they both damn well knew it.

“I’m having your fucking baby, and you didn’t even understand when I needed you. Damn it, Harry, I would’ve come for you! If you were sick, I would’ve been on the next damn plane.”

“You think I didn’t want to be with you?”

“Yes! Yes, I clearly think that – thanks for asking, Captain Fucking Obvious!”

“Well you’re wrong,” he declared strongly, sounding so much like a child that Taylor laughed bitterly. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t like that. “You can’t try to guilt me into feeling bad, Taylor, that’s not fair.”

“Don’t talk to me about fair.” Staring him down, her blue eyes were like ice. “You’ve ruined my reputation – once wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to go and do it all over again, only worse this time.”

“I never meant for this to happen–”

“I get it. I get it, okay? I’m not the girl you wanted to have all this with, and being stuck with me sucks. But…” she trailed off, bottom lip quivering briefly before her teeth clamped down hard; she would not cry in front of him. “But this hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Growing irritated, Harry snapped, “Oh, because I don’t have feelings, do I?”

“You’re not the one who’s pregnant! Nobody’s going to be crucifying _you!_ Nobody’s going to give a shit what you’ve done!”

“Why do you care so much about what other people think?”

“Because I can’t help it! It’s who I am!”

“You don’t _have_ to listen to them.”

“But I have to listen to myself!” There were tears welling in her eyes by now, but she refused to let a single one fall before she was done. “I _know_ what people are going to think of me. I know that my career might be over, while yours is gonna be fine, and there’s nothing I can do about it. And I know you don’t want this. I know, okay, and I wish we weren’t stuck like this, but we are, and I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to be with me either.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, but before he could get another word out, Taylor was up on her feet. Crossing her arms protectively over chest, she turned her head away from him. “I’m tired – I’m gonna go lie down.”

He called out her name, but he didn’t try to follow her. He let her go, the fact stinging the both of them.

By the time Harry sorted his thoughts, coherent enough to lay his claims, Taylor had long since changed and tucked herself under the covers of his bed. While her statement had been true – she _was_ tired from the journey over – she hadn’t been able to fall asleep, not while tears streaked down her cheeks, staining the pillow that smelled so much like Harry. Her cries were silent, calmed by the time the door slowly pushed open, spilling in a ray of light.

“ _Taylor?_ ”

With no reply to his soft-spoken call, Harry crept inside. Taylor kept her eyes closed and breathing shallow, praying he would fall for her pretence.

When his shadow moved back to the doorway some moments later, Harry stayed watching the still lump of her under the blankets, before muttering a frustrated, “ _Fuck!_ ” and pounding his fist against the wall.

Fresh tears wet her cheeks; Taylor didn’t know at all what Harry was thinking, and he felt beyond stupid for letting that be the case.

 

*** * * * ***

 

The last thing Taylor wanted was to wake up the morning after a fight feeling sick, but as it was, she didn’t have much choice in the matter.

Like the last time they had argued here, Harry hadn’t left her to sleep alone: he was lying on the opposite edge of the bed, still fast asleep. The space between them seemed to spread miles compared to the last nights they had shared the same bed back in Nashville, cuddled up in contentment.

The thought had Taylor’s stomach suddenly lurching, and she scrambled to disentangle herself from her wrap of sheets and blankets.

_No, no, no, no, no._

Panicking as she squirmed her way out, her foot caught in the sheets and she almost tripped right over. This was not happening, no, she could not–

Shit.

Harry was startled awake by the wonderful sound of Taylor throwing up all over the hardwood floor.

“ _Taylor_.” Shooting up and clambering across the bed with surprising speed for someone just pulled out of their dreams, Harry hurried over to her hunched over figure, her arms wrapped around her stomach. “Taylor, baby – oh, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

Taylor was shaking as he steadied her upright, too ashamed to look back down. God, she’d fought with him last night and now she’d just hurled on his bedroom floor – he was never going to forgive her.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped for breath, stammering to get the words out. He guided her a few steps backwards, away from the mess, hands resting supportively on her arms.

“It’s fine, baby; are you okay?” he asked her, frowning as he peered round to look at her from where he stood behind.

“I… It just came on suddenly, I… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry assured her quietly, rubbing her arms comfortingly. “Morning sickness, or virus, do you think?”

“Morning sickness,” Taylor decided, pausing only briefly to think it over. The stress in her stomach was gone, and she felt the same as she did every other morning after she – _ordinarily_ – made it to the bathroom. “Oh, god, Harry, I’m so sorry! I’ll clean it up.”

“Nonsense,” he quickly dismissed her. “You lay back down, love – I’ll take care of it.”

Returning to bed only with Harry’s insistent coaxing, Taylor burrowed back under the blankets, squeezing her eyes closed, not daring to look back at what she’d done to his floor. It might’ve been okay for pregnant women to accidentally throw up in the bedroom they shared with their partners, but Harry wasn’t even her boyfriend. He was probably upset she’d reeked out his room. He would definitely be upset about that, wouldn’t he?

When he returned with a bucket filled with soapy water, though, he didn’t seem it. He’d gotten her a fresh glass of water to drink, too, which he left on the table beside her with a tender stroke of her hair.

Maybe he… _didn’t_ care?

After a careful sip of water, Taylor braved glancing over at him, where he crouched to mop up her mess with a thick sponge. Quick yet thorough, it was easier to get done on the hard surface – thank god his place wasn’t carpeted. She’d be offering up to replace it if it was.

Sensing her stare, Harry looked up at her, relaxing when he found her smiling softly at him.

“You must really like me,” Taylor realised, her voice gentle as she nuzzled her cheek into the pillow underneath her, “if you’re willing to clean up my puke.”

Harry’s lips curved up in a smile he couldn’t fight, and he dunked the sponge back into the bucket. “I’m quite fond of you, yes.”

Quite fond, indeed. How had she forgotten how much Harry admired her? Being sick and alone had upset her, but… but she _had_ told him not to come. Harry, eager to please her, hadn’t wanted to show up without her approval, though if he’d known how staying back would make her feel, he would’ve been on the next plane in a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” Taylor repeated, and he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, love. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m okay.”

With vomit soon cleaned up with the efficiency and strong stomach a soon-to-be parent required, Harry sprayed the air with some disinfectant, trying to mask the potent chemical smell with that of his deodorant. It wasn’t a pleasant mix; she was relieved that she wasn’t forced to stay.

“D’you think you’ll be alright to still drive up to mum’s today?” Harry asked when he sat down on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair gently back from her face.

“I’m not gonna throw up in your car,” Taylor promised, smiles forming on both of their faces.

“You better not, else you’re buying me a new one,” he teased, patting the covers where he estimated her hip to lay. “C’mon, it smells in here. I’ll start some breakfast, and you can eat when you like, okay?”

While Harry disappeared into the kitchen, Taylor gave her teeth a quick brush, rinsing the ends of her hair that felt a bit disgustingly sticky in the sink. She would shower before they left, definitely: arriving at his mother’s house with vomit in her hair was not an option.

Harry made cups of tea for the both of them, popping a couple slices of bread into the toaster. He turned and smiled as he heard Taylor come to join him, extending a hand out to take hers, pulling her in close.

“Don’t even say it,” he grinned as she opened her mouth, another _‘I’m sorry’_ on the tip of her tongue. Taylor laughed, shoulders relaxing; he really did know her well.

“But it’s _true_.”

“I know. I believed you the first time.”

As he took her other hand, both bigger than hers, making her feel an instant spread of reassurance that warmed her chest, she was also reminded of the guilt that remained sitting there.

“About last night…”

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Harry quickly got in first, giving her hands a gentle squeeze as his smile stayed. “Taylor, I’m so sorry.”

“ _I’m_ the one who should be apologising,” Taylor insisted, surprised by his taking the blame. “I didn’t come all this way to pick a fight with you.”

“And I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t care. Tay, there’s no–”

The toaster popped, startling the pair of them. Giggling, they moved in closer.

“There’s no one else,” Harry continued, his voice soft and genuine; she could happily listen to him talk all day. Especially if he was going to tell her things like _that_.

“I was being overdramatic,” Taylor maintained. “I asked you not to come – I can’t get upset about you doing what I asked. This is just… all really hard for me.”

“I know, love.” Letting go of her hands, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer. She put hers around his neck, her ease growing the more they talked, the more they touched. “Are you doing alright? Apart from getting sick, are you… you’re okay?”

Thankfully, she could nod with honesty. “Hormones are just making me crazy.”

“You were crazy before they came along,” Harry teased, grinning cheekily as her jaw dropped.

“You’re opening yourself to a world of trouble, Styles.”

“Shame on me now.”

Taylor laughed, wondering how on earth she had gone so long without this. His dimpled smile, his silly jokes, the natural connection that flowed between them – all of it. Harry wasn’t perfect, but then again, neither was she.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Harry asked endearingly, and it took her so much by surprise that she almost forgot to say yes. Realising her moment of awed staring, Taylor nodded definitely.

“If you don’t mind the taste of toothpaste,” she started to say, though he was already leaning in, and as soon as their lips touched, she melted into his arms.

For all the things Harry may be, a fantastic kisser was indisputably one of them.

When her senses floated down to contentment as he pulled back, tenderness softening his features, Taylor decided she very much liked the thought of spending all day with Harry, tucked up warm in his arms, kissing and talking about nothing and everything. They weren’t spending long here though, and while she didn’t think his mum would mind them sharing a few innocent kisses here and there, that wasn’t _quite_ what Taylor had in mind at present.

“We should have some breakfast and get ready,” Harry said, rubbing his hands over the small of her back. He didn’t want to let go of her either: she could see it in his face, as well as in the zero effort he made to move after his proposal. “Sound good?”

“Yes,” Taylor sighed, agreeing with him with another kiss that did nothing to help their desire to leave.

 

*** * * * ***

 

The drive up to Cheshire generally took about three hours. Harry’s expensive car and his tendency to drive just above the speed limit could’ve gotten them there quicker, but they were in no rush.

He took her through the countryside, where she found peace in the sprawling greenery, winding roads that connected villages, paddocks dotted with sheep and horses. It made Taylor feel younger, counting animals in pens as they drove past, though perhaps it was just the memory of the last time he had brought her here, back when they were twenty-three and eighteen.

While Taylor saw no great difference in her appearance, she could perceive the change the last few years had had on Harry, from fresh-faced teenager to handsome young man. He had grown more solid, the curve of the muscles in his arms evident under the sleeves of his jumper as he gripped the steering wheel with one hand and changed gears with the other. There was more maturity in his face (he’d shaved in the morning, though she had found herself quite liking the little prickle of stubble she wasn’t used to on him), but the short cut of his hair reminded her of when they were first together. He wore it without a fringe now though, which she thought suited him. Pushed back, it was all the better to run her fingers through.

Her lingering gaze as she swivelled in her seat to watch him drive instead of admiring the view out the window eventually caught his attention. Glancing at her to find her staring with a fond smile, he naturally gave her one back.

“What?”

“Pull over.”

His expression shifted immediately to alarm. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Pull over,” Taylor repeated, holding back a giggle as she watched him obediently pull off the road onto the grass, halfway between two properties. They were miles outside the last village, only the occasional car passing them in the opposite direction. There was no worry about being seen out here.

Un-buckling her seat belt as soon as he rolled to a stop, Taylor leaned across the centre console and put an end to his panic that she was about to hurl over the interior of his Mercedes, cupping his face and giving him a long kiss. She could’ve risked it while he was driving, but he was incapable of using his brain for anything else when he kissed her, and he’d already very nearly killed them once before – another time wasn’t necessary.

“We can keep going now,” Taylor spoke breathlessly when she parted away, barely, and Harry smirked a little as he reached for her.

“I think we need a break,” he declared, and as they made out in his car without a care in the world, it was obvious why they always found themselves coming back to each other. Together, they could so easily forget everything else, even just for their limited time.

They made it to Cheshire by four, Harry rolling up to his mum’s Holmes Chapel driveway with a nervous skip to his heart. It wasn’t going to be anything like visiting Taylor’s parents had been, but he was bringing a girl he cared a lot about home, and there was always going to be something nervy about that.

First leaving their things in the car, Harry took Taylor by the hand when he walked round to her side. She smiled at him thankfully – she was feeling her own set of worry about his family liking her. While they had before, a lot of time had passed since then, a lot of things said and written about her. Her reputation was hardly spectacular, if the words of those who didn’t know her were anything to go by.

But Harry never paid attention to any of that, and when his mother opened the door to them and gave her as warm a hug as she gave her son, Taylor realised her concern was unnecessary. This place was home to her for a week, and it sure well was going to feel like it.

“Look at you! You look stunning, Taylor,” his mum gushed as she led them inside, ushering them to sit down. There was already a tray of biscuits sitting on the table; in the kitchen were mugs, waiting to be filled with tea upon their arrival.

“How are you feeling, darling? Harry tells me you’ve been unwell.”

A quick glance at Harry found him rubbing the back of his neck, shyness in his pinkened cheeks, and Taylor smiled happily back at his mum. “I’m doing much better now, thank you.”

With afternoon tea all sorted, they sat together in the lounge, Harry’s thigh brushing against hers as he sat comfortably close to Taylor, sharing body heat. His close proximity, as well as his mother’s hospitality, had her feeling more settled than she had been anticipating.

“How are you finding it?” Anne asked once they inevitably got to talking about the baby. “It’s not been too hard on you, has it?”

“I don’t think my morning sickness has been too bad, thankfully,” Taylor admitted, though Harry’s snort beside her said otherwise. She flashed him a challenging look, daring him to openly disagree with her, though it was her who finally spoke up, answering Anne’s questioning look. “There was a bit of an… _incident_ , this morning. But it’s usually only once a day, so I’m thankful for that.”

“We won’t be having any seafood, you’ll be glad to hear. Harry’s told me you’ve had a bit of trouble with that.”

Heat rising in her cheeks, Taylor tried to laugh it off with a thank you.

Ordinarily, she didn’t mind seafood – her mom wouldn’t have cooked fish one night she was staying over if she didn’t. She had liked the thought of it, up until she smelled it cooking, and her stomach suddenly opposed it vehemently. For the sake of her mother’s efforts, she had tried to eat some of her dinner, not joining the dots that it was the food making her nauseous and not just belated morning sickness. In the end, Taylor had driven herself home to her own house, saving her family from the off-putting sounds of her irrepressible throwing up. A shower and some scented candles had gotten the smell of fish out of her nose, and she hadn’t dared try any more seafood since.

At least it wasn’t one of her favourite foods, or something she made for herself regularly. If she suddenly couldn’t stomach cake or chicken tenders until after the baby was born, _then_ she’d be pissed.

“How far along are you now?”

“I’m fifteen weeks,” Taylor answered with unexpected sense of pride. Fifteen weeks with the little one growing inside her – that _was_ something pretty special.

“Nearly four months already,” Anne calculated, shaking her head in disbelief. She, like Taylor’s mom, couldn’t quite believe that in a matter of months she was going to become a grandmother. “You might start to show soon – have you got some new clothes ready?”

“Not yet, no.”

Leaning forward to get a better look at her son, Anne smiled good-naturedly at Harry. “What are you doing, darling? You don’t let a woman be stuck in too-tight clothing when she’s pregnant.”

Harry held up a hand in surrender, smiling back. “I thought it was a bit early for all that, but alright.”

She knew he would take the advice seriously, which was why Taylor said, quieter, “You don’t _really_ have to get me anything.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, Tay,” Harry reassured her, and for a while, at least, she would believe him.

They had a quiet rest of the day, catching up over a homemade meal, cups of hot chocolate and more biscuits for dessert. Harry was more than happy to be back – he didn’t get to see his family as much as he would like, though he was lucky that while his career wasn’t currently bustling he got more of a chance to spend time with them. Having Taylor there with him was the perfect bonus.

Eventually, they retired to his childhood bedroom. It had been years since Taylor had been inside, and she felt like she was stepping into a room that contained secrets of Harry, things that she perhaps might never discover. It felt oddly intruding, especially when she slipped into his bed, where Harry had dreamed of her before they even met – something he would not readily admit to.

In the quiet of the house, they lay together, listening to the whooshes of the wind outside. The weather was picking up, preparing for a dreary day ahead of them.

Turned on his side, watching her, Harry silently rested his hand on her stomach, Taylor’s hand moving atop. All the talk of the baby had them both feeling rather tender.

“It’s fully formed now, you know,” Taylor whispered, trying to find and focus on his features in the dark. “All it has to do is grow.”

It amazed her to think that since September, a whole new person had been forming inside of her. Taylor had tracked it each week, learning when it developed ears, fingers, toes. It was difficult to imagine something not all there, not as it was ordinarily known, but now, her baby was whole, only very, very small. It seemed more real now, somehow.

“Can you feel it yet?” Harry asked, hoping that he might just feel something under his hand now. The concept of pregnancy was a lot different from a man’s perspective; the feel of his child’s kick would be just as meaningful to him as it would her.

“Not yet. Soon, maybe.”

They were quiet for a while, neither moving. Harry’s final whisper was tentative yet wholeheartedly true.

“I’m excited to meet it.”

Even in the darkness, Taylor found softness in his gaze, and she felt it in her heart when she whispered back, “Me too.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Age six months. Swaddled in navy blue dinosaur pyjamas. Thumb stuck in between rosy lips. Sleepy blue eyes not yet flecked with green.

Harry Styles had been breaking hearts since before he could walk.

Over cups of tea, Anne was showing Taylor the photo albums she had kept safely in cupboards. There was no one to protest – Harry had gone to Manchester to spend the day catching up with some friends, Taylor having politely declined his invitation to tag along. She was more than happy to stay with his mum while he went off to spend time with mates he didn’t often get to see.

“He’s so small,” Taylor commented, marvelling over the collection of photographs of little Harry. “Gosh, he looks so _innocent_.”

Anne smiled in reminiscence. “He was such a sweet little boy.”

“He still is – just not so much the little part.”

They flipped to the next page, where Taylor smiled over one of the pictures of Harry and Gemma. The photos of the two siblings oddly reminded her of her and Austin, what with their close age differences. The four of them would get along well together; Taylor loved the thought of having a sister… not that she thought Gemma was about to become her sister-in-law. Being good friends was perfectly fine with her.

“They’re both so beautiful. They look so much like you – especially now,” Taylor said truthfully, her sincerity coming through in her voice. Anne rested her hand atop hers affectionately, the women sharing warm smiles. “You’ll have to give me tips on how to look so good after having kids.”

“You won’t need any, honey,” she assured her. “You’re young and you’re beautiful. That’s not going to change.”

“The young part will. If its father is anything to go by, I’m going to have my hands full running after this baby.”

“Well, I won’t lie: you’re probably right. But Harry will be there for you – you know that?”

Glancing back down at the album open between them, Taylor gave a small nod. “I know.” She still had her doubts, but she was trying not to think about that.

Apparently she wasn’t so good at hiding it, though, as Anne stroked her hand comfortingly over hers. “I don’t think there’s a mum out there who hasn’t been scared. But you’ll be okay, Taylor. You’re a strong woman, with plenty of support. You’ll always have us over here, too.”

“Thank you,” Taylor said quietly. “It really means a lot to me, that you’ve been so welcoming.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Anne sighed, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’re family now. You’re welcome anytime.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Taylor blinked back the tears that had sprung in her eyes – god, did she _really_ have to be so emotional all the time? She was pulled into a kind hug; it was obvious where Harry got his gentle heart from. He had been raised undeniably well, and hopefully… hopefully he would pass it on to the child growing inside her.

They perused through more pictures, watching Harry and Gemma grow up into teenagers. There were tons of them; Anne told her stories, making her laugh over some of young Harry’s antics. He’d told her about his childhood, of course, but it was different coming from his mother. Anne didn’t so much mind about embarrassing him with what she recalled – not with Taylor, anyway.

Together, they made dinner, having a quiet night in. They baked brownies for dessert, filling the house with the lovely smell of chocolate. In the living room, they relaxed in the comfortable warmth of indoors, Taylor rather contented with a black and white cat curled up purring in her lap.

It was very late before Harry made it home. They’d thought he would likely stay in Manchester for the night, but Taylor wanted to wait up for a little while longer, just in case.

“Don’t stay up all night,” Anne smiled at her when she decided to call it a night, reminding her that she could make herself at home however she liked.

Not wanting to make too much noise, though, Taylor stayed sitting on the sofa, her lap wonderfully warm thanks to the cat asleep in her lap. She scrolled around on her phone, browsing through her Tumblr app without making her presence known; she liked seeing what her fans were up to.

Headlights streaming through the blinds to cast a flash on the wall startled her, in turn making the friendly feline seek another pillow to rest. Making it to the front door before Harry, she was able to let him inside more quietly than he would’ve managed on his own.

“I thought you were going to stay with your friends overnight,” Taylor said, keeping her voice down as she watched Harry lean against the wall while he clumsily kicked off his shoes.

“Wanted to come back to you,” he told her with a lazy smile, stumbling over to wrap his arms around her waist. “Where’s mum?”

“She went to bed. Which is a good thing for you – you smell like a distillery.”

Harry laughed at that, his smile unashamed. “’M a _little_ drunk.”

“You’ve been drinking all afternoon.”

“I have,” he agreed honestly, laughing again before giving her a kiss. His mouth, warm and encompassing, tasted of whisky; she thought she could get drunk herself on the very taste of him.

“You should get to bed,” Taylor said practically, forcing herself to pull back from his lips. He, unsurprisingly, had other ideas.

“I smell baking.” Harry lifted his nose, frowning, trying to detect what exactly it was lingering in the air. “What’d you make?”

“You can have some tomorrow, baby; come to bed,” Taylor tried to encourage, but he was awfully good at getting his own way.

“ _Please?_ ” Harry begged, fluttering his lashes convincingly. His eyes were glazed over and his cheeks flushed pink, and he didn’t yet look tired; he had napped on the ride home.

“You can have one, okay?” Taylor relented, unable to stop herself from returning his grin with a smile of her own.

Leading him to the kitchen, she sat him down at the table while she fetched a brownie out of the container they had stored them in, watching Harry’s wide-eyed delight as he took the treat. It was rare that she ever got to see him drunk without being intoxicated herself, and she found amusement in his emphatically relaxed manner – and in the completely unguarded way his eyes devoured her, but this was his mum’s kitchen, and she wasn’t going to do anything about his lust-filled gaze.

“What do you think?” Taylor asked casually, leaning against the counter as she appraised him. He nodded enthusiastically.

“Dehlifscious,” Harry declared through a mouthful of brownie, a few crumbs flying from his mouth. At least he thought to swallow before speaking again. “Perfect as always, babe.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she was very aware of how his attention moved to her breasts. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Bullshit. C’mere, babe.”

“You need to keep your voice down,” Taylor chastised as she stepped over to him regardless, sitting herself across his lap as he invited. He wasn’t being too loud, but he wasn’t as quiet as he ought to be.

Slinking an arm around her waist, Harry smirked up at her. “Or what?”

“Not whatever it is you’re thinking,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. No doubt if she were in the same state as him, they’d be flirting back and forth non-stop, perhaps even daring their risky location. It wouldn’t be the first time they had done something they shouldn’t.

After shoving his last bite of brownie into his mouth, Harry rested his head comfortably against her breast. It reminded her of the innocence of the photographs she had spent the afternoon pouring over; Taylor slowly started to stroke his hair, realising just how much she wanted to take care of him.

“’Ve missed you so much,” Harry murmured, closing his eyes as her fingers in his hair soothed him. “’Ve wanted you for so long.”

“You should get some sleep, babe,” Taylor told him again quietly, wanting to stop him before he had the chance to spill his heart to her just because he had been drinking. That wasn’t how she wanted to hear it.

“Come with me?”

“Of course.”

Tilting his head up, he smiled at her lazily, suggestively. “’M gonna make you come with me.”

“Not tonight you’re not,” Taylor replied briskly, trying to hold back a giggle at his classic remark. She leaned down to kiss him slowly, though, satisfying him as much as she was willing to while they were here.

Eventually, after some more kissing and more insistence that they weren’t to do anything in case his mother overheard, Taylor managed to coax him to his bed. They wrapped up underneath the covers in spoon-fashion, Taylor pressing her thighs up against the back of his as she held him as he wanted. It was then, after she had felt his breathing slow into the soft rhythm of sleep, that she finally whispered it back.

“I’ve missed you too, Harry.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“You two are nuts. You’ll catch colds, the both of you!”

“We’re _layered_. And we have an umbrella.”

Twirling the handle of said closed umbrella, Harry smiled charmingly at his mother, who remained unconvinced.

“Taylor, you really don’t want to be getting sick again,” Anne tried her tactics on her instead, but Taylor just smiled as she slipped a gloved hand into Harry’s.

“We won’t be gone long. It’ll be good for me to get out for a bit, I think.”

“If it starts raining, call me and I’ll come pick you up, okay?” Anne told them, the pair nodding obediently. “Don’t be going too far.”

“Yes, mum,” Harry replied in a cheeky tone. They were twenty-somethings, not little kids, but a mother could still worry.

After a kiss on the cheek, they slipped out the front door before any more protests could be made, stepping out of the warmth of the house and into the freezing air outside. They _were_ nuts: who in their right mind went for a walk in the middle of winter in England?

It had been drizzling earlier in the day, enough to wet the ground, but the clouds had lifted come afternoon. There was next to no chance of the sun coming out and making it a bright afternoon – it was as close to a perfect afternoon for a walk they were going to get at this time of year.

Layered up in coats over jumpers, scarves around necks and gloves on hands, and a beanie tucked neatly on Taylor’s head, they had prepared themselves for the chill. They would warm up once they got moving, anyway.

As simple as the activity was, it wasn’t something they got to do a whole lot of anymore. In cities, it was difficult – not impossible, but a challenge – to get around unnoticed. When everyone had a camera phone in their pockets, it was too easy for someone to snap a quick pic and have it spread all over the internet. Taylor wouldn’t dare doing this anywhere else (not presently, at least), but here, in the town Harry had grown up in, she felt a sort of blanket of privacy that would keep them safe.

Harry had promised her that they weren’t going to be followed or have their whereabouts leaked. There was always the chance of it, of course, but he had never found it a problem here. He could go around freely, just as he had as a kid, without fuss. As cheesy as it sounded, here he felt like he was just Harry.

And so the small hint of nerves they felt were that of new flames, that giddiness of spending time with someone you like a lot and very much want to like you back. Neither had said as such, but the fact that they were openly walking hand in hand spoke volumes.

With Harry taking the lead, he took her into town. Taylor recognised places, but it had been an awfully long time since she had last been here. It felt refreshing, peaceful too; she felt a little bad for not doing the same for him when he had come to Nashville.

Of all the places, of course Harry would take her to the bakery he had worked at as a teenager, before he shot to fame. He knew the older woman behind the counter, who immediately came around to give him a ‘welcome home’ hug, exchanging “it’s so good to see you”s and “how are you doing”s.

“And who’s this beautiful girl you’ve brought with you?”

Taylor assumed the question was merely a formality – who _didn’t_ know who she was – but she felt heat rise in her cheeks at the compliment and Harry’s hand resting proudly on her lower back as he introduced the two. “This is Taylor,” he said, _‘my girlfriend’_ on the tip of his tongue. He still hadn’t talked to her about that. He feared she might freak out on him again.

After Harry picked out little cakes for them to take along with them, they said their goodbyes and went on with their aimless journey, catching crumbs on their gloves. They passed a few people who said hello and smiled in acknowledgement, as if they were as ordinary as everyone else around.

The only shocked look Taylor noticed they received was when they stopped at a café to grab some hot drinks. Nobody approached them, but she was fairly certain they were being watched by the few people inside. She didn’t blame them, really. If the roles were reversed, she would probably do just the same.

A subtle touch of his arm was all it took for Harry to know she wanted their coffees to go. They soon took their cups with polite thanks, Harry opening the door for her, joining hands again once they were back on the path. Neither looked back to see whether they had actually been caught.

They wandered around to a park, finding a bench to sit on that didn’t look too wet. They had been chatting companionably on their way; they were more at ease out of the city, where they felt more like plain Taylor and Harry, not the global superstars that they were.

“My arse feels damp,” Harry commented after they’d been sitting for a little while, frowning as he lifted himself up a fraction to wipe a gloved hand over the spot he had taken. Taylor smiled in amusement as she watched on beside him.

“I wonder why,” she replied sarcastically, and he flashed her a grin.

“How’s yours?”

“Are you seriously asking me how my ass is?”

“I would like to know, yes.”

Laughing, Taylor leaned into him, resting a hand on his cheek as she gave him a kiss, trusting there was no one around to see. It took him by surprise at first, though he quickly smiled into it as he kissed her back.

“Are you too cold, love? Your nose’s gone all pink,” Harry told her when she pulled away, making her wrinkle her nose in a delightful smile. His own brightened, dimples creasing deep either side. “You’re adorable, Tay.”

Before she had the chance to dispute, Harry put an arm around her shoulders and brought her back in. Their lips were cold from the chilly air, but where their mouths joined sent a spread of warmth beginning to seep through them. Taylor slipped her hands up under his coat and drew herself in closer, and for a while, they warmed each other, thawing out from the inside.

Eventually, they managed to part; kissing like that was better suited in the privacy of four walls, and with a few less layers between them.

Smiling fondly back at him, Taylor’s voice was softer as she said, “I really like this.”

“What part, exactly?” Harry playfully asked, and she nudged him with a gloved fist.

“This. Being with you.”

“Well,” he grinned, “I quite like being with you too.”

He kissed her again, brushing his nose against hers as he pulled back. “Can I take a picture of you?”

“Do you really want photographic evidence that this beanie suits me better than it suits you?” Taylor challenged, and he just laughed.

Whilst getting dressed, Taylor had spied one of his beanies – a navy one, which she found fit snugly on her head. Her hair spilled out the bottom in blonde waves, and Harry was right: she looked absolutely, positively adorable.

After taking a photo of her on his phone, he snapped a few of the two of them together upon her request; he’d send them to her later. As they flicked through them after, Taylor couldn’t quite pick a favourite: the one where they were smiling, where she kissed him on the cheek, or where he turned his head to give her a proper, tender kiss.

“This feels so normal,” Taylor commented quietly, a soft smile that lit her eyes warming his heart.

“I know what you mean.”

For a change, it felt wonderfully relaxed between them. The pressure that dangled above them, particularly in public, had blown away in the winter wind, leaving them feeling like an ordinary couple out for a calm afternoon together.

Which they were, really. It didn’t matter what their careers: they were people, with thoughts and feelings and desires, just like everyone else. There was nothing outrageous about them wanting to spend time in each other’s company, and yet they were both all too aware that they would be plastered over headlines once the media found out about them.

For now, though, they had the normalcy of being together with the comfort of privacy, and knowing each other for who they truly were.

“D’you think it can stay like this?” Harry wondered, rubbing a hand slowly over her back.

“No,” Taylor answered practically. “Not constantly, anyway. But I think we’re gonna be okay.”

Evidently, this was the answer Harry wanted: he smiled sweetly, heart-fluttering dimples popping, and Taylor couldn’t stop herself from kissing him, just because she could.

“D’you wanna have a go on the swings?” Harry unexpectedly suggested, nodding toward the nearby playground. It was empty – no surprise, for a winter’s afternoon. Even the children who wouldn’t have minded the cold air weren’t around, held inside by mothers wanting to keep sickness at bay.

Tossing their empty coffee cups in a bin, they headed for the playground, gingerly stepping into the sandpit. With their shoes wet from their walking, sand readily stuck to them, flicking inevitably inside to annoy them before they reached home and could properly empty them out.

Before Taylor sat down on one of the swings, Harry halted her, gentlemanly wiping the seat with the sleeve of his coat to save her from getting a really wet ass. She smiled at him thankfully, gasping when he gave her a push without warning after she sat down and settled herself, grasping the chains.

“I thought you wanted to swing!”

“I want to push you,” Harry grinned, taking a smart step back. “Is that okay?”

It was, of course. As Harry pushed her with measured strength, building up her height, Taylor’s insides dipped up and down rhythmically. She felt like she was flying – not just literally, but figuratively, too. Right now, she felt like nothing could touch her and Harry. It wouldn’t last, but for now she clung to it for all it was worth.

They were laughing as Harry swung her high, Taylor squealing with the fear she was about to fall off, despite her tight grip on the metal chains. She couldn’t recall the last time she had done this, or felt this free. There was no one else in the world she wanted there with her, pressing large hands against her back, encouraging her to jump off.

“I’ll hurt myself!”

“C’mon, Tay, you have to ‘ve jumped off a swing before!”

“Not from this high!”

Letting her swing down to a level she felt more comfortable with, Taylor filled herself with youthful freedom as she kicked her legs forward and flung herself into the air. Squealing, she felt momentarily suspended, weightless, before all of a sudden she was falling down.

While she stumbled, Taylor stuck the landing, much to her personal pride. Raising her arms above her head, she saluted the invisible crowd as if she were a gymnast, grinning as Harry stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled for her.

The rest of the playground was of reasonable size; despite the water droplets clinging to the metallic and plastic surfaces, they climbed up ladders and wandered over platforms, ducking to avoid smacking their heads on bars designed to accommodate children. Perhaps they were subconsciously reacquainting themselves with their youth to prepare themselves for their near future as parents, or enjoying the freedom they had before they were thrust into permanent responsibility.

“Have you felt any drops?” Taylor asked, glancing up at the cloudy sky. She’d just been down the slide; she wasn’t sure if the sky looked darker because it really was, or if the drop of moisture that had landed on her nose was just her imagination.

“I haven’t felt anything,” Harry shrugged, though considering all but their faces were covered, that wasn’t surprising.

After more warning drops, a full cloud passed over them, dousing them in a spout of rain. Laughing as they sought cover, they crawled into one of the tunnels, curling their long limbs up as they hid from the sudden shower.

“I can feel my hair curling by the second.” Taylor touched the hair that hung by her shoulders; she should’ve known that styling before going out during winter wasn’t likely to last long, especially not here.

“I like your hair curly,” Harry complimented, smiling as he watched her. “It makes you look really pretty. Not that you don’t look pretty now,” he added hastily. “It’s just–”

Taylor kissed him to shut him up; she knew what he was getting at.

Like a pair of teenagers, they wound up making out in the secrecy of the tunnel, to the sound of rain splattering on the bright red plastic encasing them. With much shuffling that bumped elbows and knees, Taylor sat on top of him, torsos pressing as close as they could with the layers of clothing between them. For a silly, impulsive moment, she wanted to unzip his jeans and give him more right here, but her guard wasn’t _that_ relaxed.

She forced herself away from his lips, the look in Harry’s eyes when they fluttered open giving her another spike of lust. For the most part of the last few years, this was all they had, but now…

Now they were blossoming under the possibility of _more_.

Their fondness continued throughout the rest of the day, with comfortable cuddles to keep warm. Anne watched them knowingly; she could read between the lines, of things they hadn’t even voiced with each other.

In Harry’s bedroom for the night, Taylor laid on top of him, the sound of rain while they were at the playground replaced by gusts of wind outside, stillness inside. It was much more comfortable here in their pyjamas, tucked under the blankets, though there was still an exciting spark of doing something they shouldn’t.

That was emphasised when, after quite some time of luxurious kissing, Harry’s hand snuck around from her back to cup her breast under her shirt, making her gasp airily. She had taken her bra off to sleep, would put it back on for breakfast the next morning, and his hand was warm and large as he caressed her. His other soon held her opposite side, nipples sticking up against his thumbs.

“You’ve grown,” Harry whispered, and Taylor brushed her lips against his, longing to take her shirt off.

“I didn’t think it was enough to be noticeable,” she whispered back. While _she_ had noticed the beginning change in her breasts, she didn’t think anyone else would spot it, least not Harry, who hadn’t seen nor touched her for months, not until tonight.

Apparently she didn’t give him enough credit; he muffled a snort. “I think I know my girl’s tits.”

Taylor laughed in surprise, cheeks flushing in the dark. He was still massaging her, building up the heat between her thighs; she could feel Harry’s own arousal pressing up against her. “Oh?”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Hugging you and having you pressing up against me has been driving me fucking crazy.”

“Well that’s not hard,” Taylor quipped, with an emphatic tilt of her hips that had him groaning quietly.

“Tease,” Harry smirked approvingly. “Are you okay with us like this again?”

“Do you really have to ask?” They both knew they wouldn’t be like this if she wasn’t.

In truth, Taylor had missed him – there was a very good reason why they always found themselves coming back to each other’s beds – but she wasn’t going to admit just how much. Seeing him so much more than usual had affected her too, which she was sure he would discover when he finally touched the wet slick between her thighs.

That time wasn’t going to be tonight, though. After a little while longer, Taylor broke away from him, despite the lust that ached within her.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Taylor realised. The house was silent with sleep, but she didn’t want to risk his mother still being up to overhear anything.

“We can be quiet,” Harry insisted, not one to give up quite that easily when it came to touching her.

“You couldn’t,” she teased; she knew him well. “And I’d rather not have to try.”

That certainly made up for Taylor’s reluctance to go any further now; the promise was all he needed. Harry hugged her, giving her one more kiss, not quite so heated.

“We can wait, babe.”

“Okay,” he agreed, sighing softly as she slid off him and tucked up by his side, his arms wrapping back around her to hold her close. “Sweet dreams, Tay.”

Resting her head on his chest, Taylor smiled, closing her eyes. “Sweet dreams, Harry.”

For the first time in quite some time, she felt like her reality could be as sweet as her dreams.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

When she returned to Nashville after one peaceful week, Taylor was feeling much lighter. She felt surer of herself – not completely, but she didn’t feel like Harry was about to ditch her for a string of glamourous supermodels who had everything she didn’t, so that was an improvement from a couple months ago.

A visit to the doctor had her undergoing some tests, confirming the health of the baby. She had easily regained the weight she had lost while she was ill – Anne had made sure of that, especially with all the baked goods she offered daily – and she had put on a few extra pounds too, though she was glad it wasn’t noticeably so. She could _not_ show yet.

Taylor spent the rest of January rehearsing – she had one concert this year that she had signed onto long before she had fallen pregnant, and pulling out was not an option. The thought of disappointing all the fans who had gotten tickets, just because she was afraid of being seen… _No_. She hadn’t even _considered_ it.

At home, she strummed on her guitar, sat at her piano, and she practiced with her band at a rehearsal space she had booked. It felt good to have something to focus her energy on again; the tiredness she’d felt in her first trimester had passed, and she (somewhat) felt like she could jump around on stage all night, just as she had for the past ten years, as if nothing had changed.

All would be well, as long as she didn’t suddenly develop an obvious bump. She didn’t mind the thought of her fans finding out, having faith they would be supportive of her. But everyone else in the world? Not so much.

Taylor’s mom wasn’t so keen on her February plans; no matter how many times Andrea tried to talk her into taking it easy, Taylor refused to budge her schedule.

“All that travelling can’t be good for you, honey.”

And she was probably right. Harry was flying to Nashville on the 31st, to spend his birthday with Taylor. On the Friday, they were all heading to Houston for her Super Saturday Night show, only for Taylor and Harry to jet to Miami the next morning to celebrate his birthday with some of his mates.

“Why Miami?” Taylor had asked him when he had invited her along, half expecting her to say no.

“There’s a nice place me and Jeff went to a while back, thought it’d be cool to go back.”

They were used to jetting around constantly, not staying long in cities while they were touring. Taylor was sure that, with no other plans ahead of her, she would manage the travel perfectly fine.

In fact, Taylor had at first tried to talk Harry out of coming to Nashville first, instead meeting her in Houston more practically. He had been very insistent that the only place he wanted to spend his birthday was with her, though, so she made it her mission to make it a good one.

The day before, she baked him a rather impressive cookies and cream cake, masking the smell of her efforts with some scented candles. There was plenty of time for the air to transition from chocolate to sandalwood, since his flight didn’t land until evening. Taylor had surprisingly offered to pick him up from the airport, but he had gotten a taxi instead, saving her the effort.

She had another surprise for him when he first arrived at her place. Once they settled in, taking his things upstairs and chilling out atop her bed, Taylor handed him a yellow envelope.

“Happy early birthday, Harry.”

Carefully, he extracted the contents, finding the product of Taylor’s morning. She had been to the doctor again, this time for an ultrasound, and Harry held the resulting image in awe.

While their baby was tiny, it at least _looked_ like a baby. It had all its limbs – it was growing eyelashes now, according to the website she checked religiously – and was curled up in a neat ball. It was surreal, looking at an image of their unborn child; its existence felt so much more absolute.

There were a few moments in the last couple weeks when she thought she felt something, but was never quite sure. She didn’t know what exactly she was meant to be looking out for; when it came for certain, she was sure she would know.

For now, though, Harry rested his hand on her stomach, and looked very much like he was about to cry tears of joy over getting a glimpse of their baby.

Harry woke the morning of his birthday to the strangest sensation of a sandpaper tongue scraping across his skin. As he drew consciousness, he was met by a furry head rubbing itself against his cheek, wiping the small damp patch from his face. Blinking, he focused on the cat before him, Olivia’s squashed face looming over him.

She quietly meowed, and all he could do was chuckle to himself, “What the fuck?”

The sound of his voice and the rustle of him escaping his arms from under the blankets made Taylor stir beside him. She had meant to rouse before him to surprise him with breakfast in bed, and was on the tail end of her slumber.

“Hmm?” she hummed, briefly fluttering her eyes fractionally open.

“’S okay, love,” Harry told her softly, getting a hold on Olivia, “go back to sleep.”

“She step on your face again?” Taylor murmured, rolling onto her side and pressing herself against him, arching her back, not unlike a cat herself.

“She licked me.”

“She _what?_ ”

Taylor laughed, making him chuckle again too, and her hand found its way up under his shirt, long fingers stretching out over the warm flesh.

“She licked me,” Harry repeated, more in surprised amusement than anything else. “I woke up to her tongue on my face, then her fur tickling my nose.”

She smiled sleepily, keeping her eyes contentedly closed as she listened to his husky morning voice. “She’s grooming you.”

“ _Grooming_ me? Whatever gave her the idea that I needed _that?_ ”

Olivia’s only answer was a purr, elicited by his fingers scratching her neck. She had laid down, half on his chest, and gave no indication she intended to explain herself – or do it again, thank god.

“She was giving you a birthday kiss,” Taylor decided instead, looking at him when she sensed his head turn to her.

“She’s not the birthday kiss I want,” Harry said, and the both of them smiled as she leaned forward, giving him _exactly_ what he wanted.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” she sighed sweetly. In return, he gently brushed her hair back, fondness in both touch and smile.

“Thanks, Tay.”

They lay companionably for a while, Harry warmed by both Taylor’s and Olivia’s body heat. Taylor blindly traced the lines of his butterfly tattoo, the map of his body clearly printed in her mind’s eye.

“What would you like for breakfast, babe?” she eventually asked, voice still quiet as not to disturb the morning’s peace.

“You,” Harry replied, without missing a beat. She couldn’t help her smile.

“I mean seriously.”

“I _am_ serious.”

“There’s bacon.”

“And I’ll have bacon, _after_ I have my head between your thighs.” The hand on the arm draped around her lowered, grabbing her ass, making her smirk up at him.

“You’re awfully presumptuous assuming I want your head there,” Taylor teased; god, did he love that flirty tone of her voice.

“I think it’s a reasonable thing for me to assume.”

“Mmm. Birthday boy knows I want to give him my body.”

The birthday boy would be perfectly happy if that was _all_ she wanted to give him. They had never gotten the chance to be truly alone while they were in England together, and while both of them had relieved their tension in their own time (Harry had been doing so for a damn lot longer than that), it wasn’t nearly the same as sharing that fire together.

By unspoken agreement, they hadn’t jumped at the first opportunity they had last night. It would be more special for them to wait for the date to tick over to February 1st, where they could celebrate Harry’s birth as lovers – or whatever it was they were.

Taylor delayed them further: after kissing for quite some time, regardless of their un-brushed teeth, she pulled away from him, smiling, “Give me a minute, babe.”

If he wasn’t now so used to being aroused only for Taylor to tell him to wait, he would’ve protested, but knowing that she intended to come back to him in a matter of minutes, not days, weeks, months, Harry smiled at her, nodding lazily.

She scooped Olivia up off him and headed downstairs, anticipation tingling through her limbs. She wanted to leave the cats their morning meal first, though, out of maternal impulse, and practicality – they knew very well how addicting each other’s touches were. Plus, she needed to pee, which wasn’t the most romantic thing to say to someone you wanted to impress.

Thoroughly washing her hands before scaling the stairs, trying to rinse off any lingering smell of cat food, Taylor’s heart rate began to quicken. She rolled back her shoulders; she knew she didn’t look her best, not in the morning, and while her pyjamas weren’t sexy for the occasion, she still hoped she looked cute. As if Harry didn’t worship her in whatever state she was in.

He’d slipped out of bed while she was gone, as well, and was propped up waiting for her when she returned, his face immediately lighting up. Taylor smiled, a little shyly, and crawled up from the end of the bed, all the way up to give him a kiss.

From there, it flowed as easily as ever. They wrapped up in each other’s embrace, melting into tender kisses. After a little while, they sat up together to take their sleep shirts off, goose bumps rising at the sudden hit of cooler air, and Taylor’s cheeks pinkened as Harry unashamedly admired her chest, bare for him for the first time in nearly five months. He kissed her stiffened nipple, caressed her appreciatively, and she sighed at the sensitivity spreading pleasure through her body, pooling between her thighs.

Harry laid her down on her back, carefully pulling her fox-printed pants down for her. To her embarrassment, she whimpered when he teasingly breathed hot air through the cotton of her underwear; of course he was going to tease her. He kissed all over her inner thighs before he slipped off her panties, hooking her legs over his shoulders and fulfilling one of his favourite fantasies.

God. Oh, god. It had been so long, she had forgotten just how _good_ he was at this.

All comprehensive thought left her mind as Harry worked wonders with his tongue. Why, oh why, had she prolonged this? She could’ve had him devouring her like she was his favourite taste in the entire world for _months_.

Forever would be too soon for her to finish. Taylor tried to resist the increasingly desperate force tugging her over the edge of euphoria; the hand grabbed her too fiercely, her back arching and her fingers grasping at Harry’s soft hair as she tipped over the cliff, a flood of bliss spreading all through her being.

Harry looked rather pleased with himself as he rested his head against her thigh, grinning magnificently as he watched her calm. His mouth was glistening; she massaged her fingers in his hair, smiling back down at him in gratitude.

“Best birthday ever,” Harry prematurely announced, and she rolled her eyes, friendly.

“It’s hardly even started yet,” Taylor pointed out, but he didn’t seem to care.

“All I want is you, Tay.” Kissing her thigh, he trailed a few more up to her stomach, where his lips pressed to the small swell of her abdomen.

“Be gentle with us,” she said softly, his eyes flicking up to hers.

“Always.”

“Bullshit,” she laughed, and he grinned back cheekily. “You love going hard with me.”

“I love when you’re loud.” Harry crawled up her body, propping himself above her, faces inches apart, his green eyes intense with truth. “I’ll be gentle with you, darling.”

Taylor smiled, lightly biting her lip. “Call me that again.”

“You like that, my darling?” he charmingly repeated, amused by the sweetness in her expression at the name.

“You sound so British.”

“I _am_ British,” he laughed, leaning in to speak between kisses, “I’ll call you… whatever… you like.”

“Yours,” Taylor whispered impulsively, and he paused, lips almost touching hers. “Call me yours.”

Her words hung in the air for a few long seconds. Taylor could hear her blood pounding in her ears, desperate for his answer.

Finally, Harry’s mouth pressed to hers, he entered her, and she squeaked at his sudden rush of intensity. He kissed her passionately, while her arms wrapped around him as she reaccustomed herself to the feeling of his body filling hers.

In honesty, early on, Taylor had Googled whether it was okay for them to do this again now. She could’ve asked one of her friends who had had children (Blake had been of kind help so far), or her doctor, though it felt silly, like it was something she should already know.

She ought to make the most of it, she thought. Soon enough, he wasn’t going to find her attractive like he did now, and after the baby came… well, who knew where that would leave them.

For now, Harry treated her as gently as he promised, moving slowly, kissing and caressing. It made Taylor feel wonderful; in return, Harry felt just the same. He loved doing anything he could to please her, romantically or otherwise; always, _always_ , he wanted to give her his body, the one sure way of showing her that she meant something to him.

It was impossible for her to think she was inconsequential when she reached that point of bliss again, almost instantaneously causing him to find that same starburst of pleasure. Harry collapsed on top of her, utterly thrilled, and she affectionately rubbed her foot against his calf as their heart rates began to slow to normal.

When he regained his senses, Harry pulled out of her and rolled off to lay on his side, stroking a hand over her lightly, giving her tingles as he smiled at her so fondly. His hair had fluffed up where she had touched and tugged, his plump lips a lovely pink; he looked achingly adorable.

And to think, it was _her_ he was smiling for.

Tilting her head back against the pillow, letting her eyes close, Taylor stretched luxuriously. Her body felt relaxed and adored in every sense of the words; yes, waiting for it was worth it. It always was with Harry.

“You’re so beautiful,” he complimented quietly, once her arched back returned comfortably against the blankets. She flopped her head to the side to smile back at him; she had washed her hair the previous morning and had purposely left it to its own devices, where it now lay in a fan of blonde curls, just how he liked it.

“Thank you,” she whispered back. “You have the cutest sex hair.”

Chuckling in surprise, Harry’s hand moved not to fix his hair, but to cup one of her bare breasts, undemanding. “Do I?”

“Mhmm. It sticks up everywhere, kind of like you’ve been electrocuted,” she described, much to his amusement.

“S’pose you’re the lightning then, eh?”

“Mhmm,” she smiled back. “Is there a goddess of lightning, do you think?”

His thumb circled lightly over her nipple lazily as he gazed at her. “Probably. If you’re her, what does that make me?” When she shrugged a little, he suggested, “Zeus?”

“Yeah, you’re totally the King of Gods.”

“You can’t be sarcastic with me on my birthday,” Harry grinned, giving her a chastising little pinch of her nipple, which made her gasp sharply.

“I was gonna say you could just be _my_ king, but not after _that_.”

Trying to roll away from him, Taylor was unsuccessful; Harry was quick to shuffle after her, wrapping his arms around her naked body and pulling her to his chest. As they laid on their sides, they giggled, Taylor wiggling her ass against him teasingly as her back pressed to his chest. She was rewarded with a peppering of kisses on her shoulder.

“D’you mean it?” Harry asked, peering over her shoulder at her.

“Yes.” Reaching for his hand, she brought it up to her lips, kissing his fingers affectionately. “I’ll give you a flower crown you can wear, if you like.”

She felt his laughter vibrate against her back. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“I’ve got something else for you. It’s a surprise.”

A delicious one, at that. After extracting herself from his embrace, Taylor slipped back into her pyjama pants, though paired them with his shirt instead. She headed back downstairs, where she collected his birthday cake from its hiding place in one of the cupboards, carefully carrying it up to her bedroom on its impressive cake stand.

A classic chocolate cake on the inside, the outside was coated in a creamy vanilla frosting. The walls were decorated with crushed Oreo’s, forming a crumbly border around the top, too. In the centre, she had piped ‘Happy Birthday Harry’, with a drawing of a small bunch of balloons on one side and a love heart on the other.

It was no surprise that Harry gaped in wonder when she presented it to him, his eyes lighting with childlike desire.

“You _made_ this for me?”

“Are there any other Harry’s here?” she quipped, smiling down at him. Still naked, he had slid back under the covers to keep warm, and was sitting up with eagerness.

“Can we have cake for breakfast?”

Taylor laughed, before realising he was serious. “Really? I don’t think I could stomach this as my first meal of the day.” His expression lost some of its enthusiasm; having her throw up on his birthday wasn’t exactly appealing. “We could have some after, okay?”

Instead of a decadent dessert for breakfast, they had bacon and eggs, Taylor insisting on making their accompanying cups of tea. Both Harry and Ed had given her tips for preparing a good brew years ago, and she was rather pleased with herself when he gave her his approval.

Afterwards, Taylor gave him his birthday presents. She had been debating what to give him for a while now, and had, finally, chosen a painting, as well as a Burberry sweater she hoped he didn’t already own.

Both of which Harry loved; he changed right into the sweater, popping his fluffy head through the top with a grin. He thanked her with a kiss and a hug, holding onto her with little desire to let go.

“I still can’t decide what to wear to your party,” Taylor said, comfortably remaining in his arms. That was another thing she had spent a while thinking about – was _still_ thinking about. While she wasn’t obviously pregnant, sure, she had definitely gained weight, especially in the last two weeks, and wearing one of her tight dresses was _not_ on her agenda.

“You’ve got plenty of nice things,” Harry reminded her, smoothing his hands slowly over her back. “What about that black dress, the one with the lace up back? Have you still got that?”

“Yeah, it’s just… I don’t want to wear anything that fitted.”

Instead of trying to convince her that she had no reason to be apprehensive about figure-hugging clothing, Harry offered her a solution. After thinking it over for a few moments, he broke away from her, looking toward his suitcase on the floor. “I might have something,” he said slowly, going over to rummage through. He was sure he had packed what he was thinking of; he had considered wearing it himself, but if she liked it, he would happily give it to her instead.

“Aha!” Pulling out a satin bomber jacket, Harry held it up for her appraisal. “What do you think?”

Covered in a dark jungle print, there was a tiger decal emblazoned on the back. It was a longline style, sitting a safe few inches down her thighs when she tried it on.

“You could wear stockings underneath, pretend it’s like a dress,” Harry suggested, as Taylor assessed her reflection in the mirror. She could certainly get away with it length-wise – she had shorts shorter than that. The relaxed fit and larger size drowned her figure, showing only the smooth swell of her breasts, giving no indication that her body had changed at all.

“What boots do you have?” Harry asked, going to peer in her closet. Taylor smiled as she watched.

“Playing stylist, are you?” she teased, and he grinned over his shoulder at her.

“It’s fun.”

If they had a daughter, she was sure going to enjoy taking advantage of that. When the thought came into her head, Taylor almost told him so. They hadn’t spoken like that, though, and she was still hesitant to start.

After some consideration, Harry decided on a pair of black stiletto boots, laced up at the front. She tugged on a pair of fishnets and gave him a proper look at the outfit he had created, making him nod his head, smiling approvingly.

“Perfect.”

“You sure you don’t care that I’m taller than you?” she asked, and he laughed, stepping beside her as they looked in the mirror together. Her heels gave her a few inches on him, but he didn’t particularly mind.

“I’ll be too busy staring at your legs to care,” he smiled, sliding his arm around her waist.

“You’re _always_ too busy staring at my legs.”

“You’ve got really fucking great legs.”

Both laughing, Harry tilted his head up to kiss her, aware just how lucky he was to be here with her.

They didn’t spend the day doing anything fancy to celebrate. In all honesty, Harry just wanted to be in Taylor’s company. It didn’t matter what they did, as long as they were together.

And so they relaxed, enjoying the simplicity in being with each other. It wasn’t until later, come dusk, that they ventured out, Harry suggesting that they go for a drive.

“Can I drive?” he asked as they stood in her garage, Taylor poised by the driver’s side with her keyring dangling from her index finger.

“Are you going to total my car?” she returned, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“’M always safe.”

“Sure, babe.” She patted his shoulder condescendingly, though she handed him the keys; it was his birthday, after all.

They had no end destination: they would go wherever the road took them, agreeing that they weren’t to use the GPS unless they managed to get hopelessly lost. Considering Taylor quite liked to drive around under the cover of darkness, losing herself in her thoughts and the glowing street lights, she doubted they would get to a point where help was necessary.

Harry knew the feeling well: often, he liked to cruise around in his own car, though he wasn’t familiar with the streets of Nashville. He didn’t know where he was going, but neither of them minded. It was good to get out for a while, without worry, like they had in England.

Even so, when they stopped at a McDonald’s drive thru to grab something to eat, Taylor kept her head down, pretending to fiddle with her phone. If anyone recognised her or her car, nothing was made of it, nor of Harry placing their order and collecting it at the next window.

They parked by the oval of Taylor’s old high school, stopping to eat. Un-buckling, they twisted towards each other in their seats, and Taylor told him some new stories of the not-so-wonderful days she had spent in those hallowed halls. Her life had changed drastically since she was a teenager, but unfortunately, it wasn’t all different: there were still the people who shunned her, simply because she was the way she was, only now it was on a global scale.

There wasn’t a lot she would do differently. She wasn’t even so sure she would change that September night anymore, except for better timing.

“’M glad we didn’t go to the same school. You wouldn’t have given me the time of day,” Harry said, popping a fry into his mouth.

“Ignoring the difference in continents,” Taylor assumed, “you’re right. I had enough trouble trying to look normal without dating a guy even younger than my brother.”

“ _Alright_ ,” he laughed, tossing a fry at her instead. It bounced off her shoulder, and she snatched it up before he could reclaim it.

“You’re the one that made the point; you can’t be pissed at me for agreeing.”

He nodded briefly before reaching for his drink, taking a sip of his Coke. “The age difference – ‘s kinda hot, though,” he smirked as he set it back in the cup holder. “For me, at least.”

“Oh, why am I not surprised to hear that?” Taylor tried to look serious, but she couldn’t hold it, not when he was flashing her a dimple like that, illuminated by the small light above the centre console. Smiling back, she threw one of her own fries back at him after she said, “Typical young man.”

“It’s hardly _my_ fault you’re so attractive,” Harry countered as he swept the crispy chip into his mouth. “And intriguing. I like talking with you.”

“I’m so happy to hear I haven’t been boring you all these years,” she replied dryly, and he clicked his fingers, pointing at her.

“That’s exactly what I mean. You’re fucking fit, _and_ terribly sarcastic. My perfect woman.”

“You’re easy to please,” she kept up, hiding her small smirk by taking another bite of her burger. She was almost finished, and kind of regretted not getting a sundae to have afterwards.

“You’re one to talk: you’re here for my charming personality,” Harry grinned at her daringly.

Swallowing, Taylor shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re just a good fuck.”

It wasn’t a total lie: he _was_ , though his eyebrows still shot up at hearing her admit it in such a nonchalant tone.

“Straight to the point, eh?”

“Well they don’t call me Subtle Swift.”

Smiling at each other, Taylor giggled at herself. In a moment, though, she turned genuine.

“You mean a lot to me, Harry. And not just because I’m having your baby.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Harry laughed, glancing down and fiddling with the straw in his cup. “You don’t have to go and get all soppy just ‘cause it’s my birthday, you know.”

“You’re just afraid I’ll start crying.”

“Maybe a little.” He found her eyes again, giving her a soft smile. “I’m really very happy with you.”

Taylor leaned across the console to kiss him, offering her agreement with the tender press of her lips.

When they got back on the road, they headed west into the next town. Down a quiet street, a cat ran across the road, a dark flash against the beam of the headlights, scaring all involved, particularly Taylor, who dreaded the thought of hitting any animal by mistake. The cat made it safely to someone’s front yard, disappearing into the shadows, and Harry lifted his foot off the brake, relieved that turning twenty-three hadn’t turned him into an accidental cat murderer.

While he avoided turning anything cute and cuddly into roadkill, he still wasn’t the most attentive of drivers. Harry continued to glance over at Taylor, both when she talked and when she was simply staring out the window, watching the world go by. He could watch her forever. He hoped, somewhat selfishly, he would be able to.

There wasn’t a yellow light that he didn’t zoom through, and the sight of a police car passing in the opposite direction of a main road made Taylor hope that they weren’t going to necessitate a stop by a roving car. _She_ never got pulled over, but Mr Multiple Parking Tickets was in the driver’s seat.

“You’re _never_ going to let that holiday go, are you?” Harry knew, glancing over at her in part amusement. Unconsciously, he brushed his knuckles over the scar on his chin.

“It was fun until you nearly killed us with your manic driving,” Taylor maintained, the memory of their ski trip gone wrong still fresh in her mind, despite the many years passed. “Keep your eyes on the road, will you?”

“Someone’s bossy.” Sitting up straight, Harry fixed both his hands on the wheel at ten and two, eyes straight ahead. She laughed at his exaggeration, rolling her eyes, and he broke into a grin. “Let’s do something wild.”

“Wild?” Taylor gave him a dubious look. “Wild and I don’t exactly go in the same sentence.”

“So? The night is young and so are we.”

“Said by the one who’s closer to twenty than thirty.”

“Shut up, you’re not a dinosaur yet.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel rhythmically. “Let’s toilet paper someone’s house.”

“Let’s _what?_ ” she laughed in astonishment. “You sure you’re not still a teenager?”

As if backing up her point, he stuck his tongue out at her. “I don’t hear _you_ coming up with any ideas.”

“It wasn’t my idea to come up with any in the first place.”

So Harry had the job of trying to think of something she might actually agree to – nothing illegal, as exciting as breaking into a swimming pool at night as if they were in a movie sounded.

“It’s _winter_ ,” was one of her arguments to that. “We’ll freeze to death!”

Alternatively to freezing, he thought they could warm each other up under the darkness of a movie theatre, but Taylor very much did not want to get caught doing _that_.

“We could park,” Taylor, surprisingly, suggested herself.

“We could what?”

“Park. It’d be better than a theatre.”

From memory, Taylor directed him to the secluded spot all the cool kids went to when she was in school. She had been there once before herself, sat in the back of a car under the misleading privacy of the surrounding trees. She had been young and inexperienced then; now she longed for a lot more than kisses.

Instead of stretching out on the backseat, they stayed in the front, Taylor climbing across to sit on Harry’s lap. There was no one else around; if anyone else had fooled around here on this cold Wednesday night, they were long gone now.

It felt like there was no one else in the world; it always did, with Harry. She had never been able to figure out why she could never think straight, how the taste of his lips could so easily melt her resolve, but she realised that perhaps it wasn’t something to be explained. It was something she should just embrace.

Embrace it they did. Taylor had her rare moments of reckless impulse – Harry knew that _very_ well – and their kisses in their confined space sent a sparkling of anticipation bubbling inside them.

“I haven’t done this before,” Taylor admitted, while Harry pressed his lips wonderfully to her neck. He was tempted to leave a mark, but not when she had to show herself on stage so soon.

“Hmm?” Pulling away, he looked at her curiously. “You suggested it: I thought you must’ve.” She shook her head a little, and a bright smile spread across his face. “I’m honoured to be your first.”

In amongst their giggles, they struggled to get their pants down sufficiently enough. They bumped elbows and knees in their efforts, wriggling until his were past his knees and hers around her ankles. In the back of her mind, she was aware of how scandalous this would look if anyone were to see through her tinted windows, but she couldn’t stop herself from doing _everything_ she wanted because of that small chance.

When she lined him up and sat down on him, Taylor sighed deeply, settling her hands on his shoulders while his moved to her back. Her oversized sweater covered where their bodies joined; the bare skin of her legs was cold from exposure in the places they weren’t touching.

They warmed each other up perfectly well. With Taylor’s steady rhythm rocking atop him, their lustful kisses and soft moans, their heated breath began to steam the windows. “Look,” Harry pointed it out to her, and they both were laughing as she pressed her palm to the side window and dragged her hand down, a clear print in the fogged glass.

“Like in _Titanic_ ,” Harry grinned.

“If we go down, then we go down together,” Taylor vowed in a low tone, sealing it with a kiss.

That was the only thing that seemed definite: for better or for worse, they were in this together.

Even when a small indeterminate animal scampered across the bonnet of the car, not at all light on its feet, and Taylor screamed in fright, they were together. Together in laughter, that is: her exclamation, though certainly not out of pleasure, had unintentionally tipped Harry over the edge, and while yes, he was kind of embarrassed, this was _Taylor_. She knew him better than anyone else; she cupped his face with both hands and gave him a long kiss.

“I’ve missed you too,” she beamed, tilting her head back gorgeously as she couldn’t fight her giggles again. “I can’t believe you– _ahh!_ Oh, god, _Harry!_ ”

He got her back by pressing his thumb between her thighs, quickly rubbing her sensitivity until her muscles tightened and she released around him. Panting, she leaned backwards, only to jump again when she set off the car horn she had forgotten was right behind her.

“You are so fucking cute,” Harry laughed as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. Taylor hid her smile in his hair, relieved that he thought so.

“Can we go get ice cream? I could so go for a sundae right now.”

“Worked up an appetite, eh?” he teased, poking her side so she squirmed on him. “C’mon, baby.”

It was as much of a struggle to get their pants back in order as it had been to get them down. They stopped by a different McDonald’s for their sundaes, hanging out in a parking lot to eat before their desserts could melt. In no rush, it was a while still before they made it home again. They could’ve driven all night, following the road wherever their hearts desired, if it weren’t for other commitments.

With another slice of cake in them each, they retreated to bed, where they continued to explore each other’s bodies in the way they knew so well. It was the perfect birthday: when Harry finally nestled up against Taylor’s bare back, arms wrapped around her in spoon fashion, he knew there was nothing else he could’ve asked for. Everything he needed was right here.

Lulled by exertion and the gentle rhythm of Harry’s breathing, Taylor almost missed it. Right under Harry’s arm resting across her stomach, was a small flutter. She squeezed her eyes closed, begging it to happen again, just so she knew for sure.

She had almost drifted off by the time there was another miniscule movement. Smiling dazedly, Taylor fell asleep with the comfort of the tiny signal of “I’m here!” inside her and the protective embrace of her man.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

They made it to Houston without a hitch. With a final rehearsal during the afternoon, Taylor was feeling good. She was confident in her set list: there were songs she hadn’t performed live before, and while that always brought along some nerves, she was sure her fans were going to love it. It looked like they really were set for a Super Saturday Night.

It was only until later, with showtime fast approaching, did doubt really creep in.

While Taylor got her hair and make-up done, Harry hung around backstage, chatting with her band. Being around musicians, feeling the pre-show energy that buzzed backstage, he felt the itch to perform himself. It wouldn’t be that long; a couple months, maybe, once he got his album sorted and agreed on a touring schedule. He wanted to be there for Taylor and the baby, but he wanted his music too; he was still figuring out how he could have both.

Eventually, when she never returned, Harry began to grow concerned. It didn’t normally take that long to get through hair and make-up; she didn’t have any unfortunate cat scratches or inopportune blemishes that required heavy attention. She should’ve been jumping out with excited energy by now.

Her dressing room was the most logical place to look first. There, he found her alone, still sitting in a make-up chair, her head in her hands.

She looked up sharply at the sound of the door clicking open (he hadn’t bothered to knock first), though she relaxed, slumping in her chair, when she saw who was interrupting her thoughts.

Thanks to their long-standing connection, Harry could read her well, and saw clearly that she wasn’t in the frame of mind she ought to be. “Hey,” he said softly, crossing over and pulling up a chair beside hers. With the door securely closed behind him, he was safe to ask, “What’s going on, love?”

Taylor swallowed hard. She knew Harry was going to be of reassurance to her, but if he wasn’t telling her the truth, she didn’t want to hear it at all.

“They’re going to know,” she said quietly, keeping her head down, fiddling with the tie of her fluffy robe. It covered her stage outfit and everything underneath.

Beside her, Harry sighed, rubbing his hand comfortingly over her back. “Nobody’s going to know, Taylor.”

“All it’s going to take is for one person to take one picture of me and everyone will tear me apart.” Tears sprung in her eyes, and when she sniffled, Harry quickly pulled her into a hug.

“ _Hey_. Hey, sweetheart, don’t cry.” Trying to hush her, Harry frowned as she blinked rapidly to stop any tears from falling.

“My make-up artist’ll hate me,” she smiled weakly, suddenly frowning herself as she had to blink swiftly again. “Fuck, my contact’s moved.”

“Are you alright?”

Carefully touching her left eye, she managed to set it back in place. “Yeah,” she sniffed again. “Yeah, shit, I can’t do this.”

“ _Taylor_ ,” Harry sighed, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “You _can_. You know you can.”

“I look _pregnant_.”

She had thought she was going to be able to get away with it, but when she slipped into her costume, sized long before she had gained any weight, she was convinced that the small swell of her stomach was blindingly obvious.

“You don’t,” Harry immediately reassured her, as expected. “Liam showed me a picture of Cheryl – _she_ looks pregnant.”

“She’s due next month, that’s no comparison,” she rebuffed. Taylor was due in June, and Harry and Liam already had big plans for their closely aged children. What were the odds that they had both slipped up around the same time, after all?

“It’s really not noticeable on you, love,” Harry went on regardless. He was right: she was lucky enough to be barely showing this far along, but _she_ could see the change in her body; it wouldn’t be easy to convince her otherwise.

“It _is_.” Pulling away, she stood up and untied her robe, tossing it aside onto the counter. Her black costume glittered; what she saw was not the same as what he did.

“I can’t see anything,” Harry told her clearly, taking her hands when she looked down at him in disbelief. “Taylor, I promise, it’s not noticeable.”

“I _feel_ like it is.”

If you looked closely enough, perhaps it was. Under her glimmering outer layer, long-sleeved and short on her thighs, showed plain black underwear. There was a small rise of her abdomen, but black was slimming, after all, and the sparkly material of her dress was distraction enough from any change to her figure.

“Taylor, if I didn’t know, I’d never guess it,” Harry said sincerely, giving her hands an affirming squeeze. She released her breath in a sigh.

“Do you really mean that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he emphasised. “You look the same as you always have.”

While she wasn’t so sure she believed him, she offered a short nod. There wasn’t anything she could do, anyway. They all knew there was no chance of her pulling out, not when there was a crowd ready waiting for her.

“Although… I can’t wait for you to grow,” Harry admitted, smiling up at her softly. “All big and glowing.”

“We’ll see how you feel when you’re giving me daily massages.” Taylor returned the smile, sure that whatever fantasy he had conjured up about life with a pregnant woman wasn’t as dreamy as he imagined. Still, she didn’t want to burst his bubble, not when his smile radiated a kindness suggesting his potential as a devoted dad.

Releasing her hands, he asked her to turn around, guiding her down onto his lap when she did so without question. Hands on her shoulders, he began to massage the knots from her muscles; Taylor sighed, feeling her stress over other people’s opinions dissipate.

It wasn’t her fans that were the problem; a part of her wanted to make a post on social media to share this with them. It was all the bullshit everyone else would give her that stopped her from even considering it.

“You’re going to kick some arse out there, babe,” Harry encouraged, making her laugh.

“How eloquently phrased.”

“You’re at the top of your game and you know it.”

“You really don’t have to give me a motivational speech.”

“Oh? I feel like you’d be more motivated if I told you what I’d like to do to you when we get back to the hotel.”

Giggling, Taylor leaned back against him, though she didn’t get a chance to find out what was in store for her later: they were interrupted by a knock on the door, Taylor’s mom poking her head through once they called out “Come in!”

“You ready, honey?”

“Just gotta put my shoes on.” Hopping up, Taylor went to find them, Harry offering Andrea a friendly smile. He didn’t think he had 100% made it into her good books yet (he questioned whether he ever really would, considering), but he was trying. Being here to support Taylor tonight was proof of that.

Together, they followed behind Andrea hand in hand, Harry trying to transfer some of his positive energy to Taylor. She felt better for the talk, but the fear of losing the power to control when and how the world found out her secret still lingered in the recesses of her mind.

“You’re going to be amazing out there, Tay,” Harry promised her when they were in the wings, minutes before she was due on stage. He rested both hands on her shoulders, squeezing assuredly. “Go get ‘em.”

Taylor hugged him for as long as she could. Not once had he tried to convince her with kisses; it was only when they were forced to part did Harry give her one, chaste in front of those crowded in the wings. It lifted her heart, and when she was handed a microphone, she finally felt ready.

When she stepped on stage, it was easy to forget everything else. All that mattered was putting on a good show for her fans, and a good show was exactly what she gave them.

A seasoned performer, Taylor didn’t disappoint. She owned the stage and the screaming crowd, not missing a single note. Her newer tracks were as well received as she had been hoping for – and filmed religiously for all those who couldn’t attend to view online later.

She enjoyed taking time off for herself, but there was nothing in the world that made her feel the same way as standing in front of a crowd who screamed every word of her songs back at her.

She knew this was going to be her only show of the year; she might not face a crowd again in the next, either. But being up there, surrounded by people who fervently supported her, she knew that was going to be okay. Maybe she wouldn’t be relevant on a global scale, but there were fans that wouldn’t leave her, no matter how extended her break. She was counting on that.

For now, she made the most of it while she still could. She captured every moment in her mind, trying to seal the surreal feeling of performing; by the time she finished her final song, shaking it off for the last time in god knows how long, and waving goodbye to her adoring audience, she was nearly in tears when she bustled off stage.

Trading her microphone for a water bottle given by a crew member, Taylor took a big gulp, gasping for breath when she screwed the lid back on. She collapsed right into Harry’s arms, body alight with adrenaline.

“Absolutely incredible,” Harry immediately told her, arms wrapped tight around her. “You fucking killed it.”

All through her performance, Harry had watched from the wings, eyes following her every move. He was bursting with pride, just as much as her parents, who had been standing with him.

“That was so much fun,” she said breathlessly, raking a hand through her hair as she pulled back. “God, I’m gonna _cry_.”

There were hugs all round, from her parents, back-up singers and band. She _did_ cry (thanks a lot, hormones!), but they were happy tears; when she ended up with Harry again, stepped away on their own as everyone went about clearing up, they threatened to spring again.

“I felt the baby,” she told him excitedly, his face instantly lighting up. “When I was at the piano – it might’ve been nothing, but I’m sure I felt it.”

It had taken great self-control not to visibly react when she had felt a small shift within her while she was sat at the piano, pausing between songs. Now, though, she could rest her hand on her stomach, smile and laugh at the wonder of it, while Harry reacted with that same awe.

“ _Taylor_ ,” he beamed, enveloping her in another hug, filling the air with the sound of her laughter as he lifted her off the ground and spun her around.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Twenty-four hours later, they were partying in Miami.

It was nothing major, a relaxed get together with a group of Harry’s friends. They’d booked out the outdoor area of a restaurant by the beach – seafood had been strictly crossed off the menu, Harry getting exactly what he wanted when he simply explained, “My friend can’t handle the smell.”

If anyone invited hadn’t known he was back with Taylor, they certainly did now: they spent the majority of the night within each other’s reach, Harry making sure she felt comfortable and included in amongst people she didn’t really know. He made sure no one offered her anything alcoholic, for while he trusted everyone there, the list of people he had actually told about their situation was short.

He hadn’t been planning on drinking a lot himself, not wanting to get hammered and leave Taylor to take care of him. She didn’t want him to miss out on the festivities on her account, though; she was happy with a fruity mocktail in one hand and his hand in her other, while he drank whatever he pleased.

Over the evening, Taylor got to know some more of his friends, particularly one man he introduced her to. Mitch – he had worked on the tracks for Harry’s upcoming album, and she spent a while talking to him, about music and guitars. She supposed it must be strange for him, to suddenly be mingling with household names when a year ago he had never dreamed of such a thing. It was obvious he clicked with Harry; she was dying to hear them play. Harry still hadn’t played her any of his own material, and she didn’t want to push him until he was ready.

A cake came out on a large plate later in the night, starting an enthusiastic round of ‘Happy Birthday’. Blowing out his candles in one determined breath (he’d never reveal his wish), Harry cut into it with a sharp knife, received by laughter and friendly heckles when one of his mates accused, “You touched the bottom!”

Not one to break silly tradition, Harry was all too eager to accept his punishment of kissing the nearest girl. He left Taylor breathless when he made of show of just how marvellous his kisses could be.

Eventually, they had made it back to their hotel, where they were planning to stay for a few nights before getting on another plane again.

“No, love, not when you haven’t been drinking too,” Harry had giggled when she unbuttoned his jeans purposefully while they kissed for longer on the bed. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“It’s not taking advantage if I want it,” Taylor boldly replied. While his head might’ve wanted him to act gentlemanly, his body had other ideas, and he had ended up going to sleep feeling wonderfully contented after one of her blow jobs.

He thanked her properly the next morning, when they were revived with energy to touch each other like they normally did. A hotel staff member got quite the fright when they came to drop off the room service they ordered, welcomed by Harry wearing nothing but a towel from the shower he’d had while they were waiting.

Settling on the sofa, lest they spill anything in bed, Taylor tucked right into a plate of waffles, topped with berries and whipped cream. Harry, still undressed, sipped at a cup of coffee beside her, while checking his phone.

“Oh, _shit_.”

His exclamation distracted her from her food; she found him frowning thoroughly at his screen. “What?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, unaware of the way it caused the damp strands to stick up. He avoided looking her way, but he could feel her eyes on him, waiting. “Someone took pictures last night. Were they hiding in _bushes?_ ”

Taylor forced herself to take another bite of her breakfast; she chewed slowly. Paparazzi were always a possibility, yet she had felt safe from prying eyes last night. _Very_ safe: no way would she have been so affectionate with Harry if she had known people would be posting pictures without their consent.

One thing she certainly had not missed while taking a break was constantly being followed by cameras.

“How many are there?” she asked calmly.

“Um… my publicist sent me six. She hasn’t seen any more.”

“Can I see?”

Hesitantly, Harry handed over his phone, chewing on his bottom lip as he watched her scroll through the photos.

Wherever the photographer had been hiding, they hadn’t had the best view. In the first few, they had their backs to them; she could’ve been any leggy blonde wearing one of his jackets. The giveaway was a shot of them kissing, followed by one of them side on, grinning at each other. There was no mistaking her and her trademark red lipstick then.

After looking over each grainy photo a couple times each, Taylor handed his phone back. She couldn’t panic. There was nothing they could do now, if the pictures were already in circulation. It wasn’t that bad, really. At least no one could deny that they looked happy together.

Still, Harry felt responsible, at least in part. If he hadn’t asked her to come along, or if he’d made sure there was better security, they would still be blissfully going around in secret.

“I’m really sorry, Taylor,” he said quietly, yet she shook her head, scooping up a bit of whipped cream with the tip of her finger and popping it in her mouth.

“It’s not your fault.” Reaching for her own cup of coffee, she took a long sip, calmed by the hot liquid running down her throat. “Maybe it’s for the best. People were going to find out eventually. Maybe your publicist was right: maybe it’s better they know we’re together now, and not only later.”

While Taylor had not at all enjoyed that meeting back in November, there were some things she had agreed with his publicist on. If she suddenly sprung up online with a baby announcement, or was photographed at some point during her pregnancy, there was inevitably going to be a ‘Who’s the father?’ debate, which would turn into a worldwide guessing game for the entertainment of those who enjoyed belittling her. If there was evidence of them together, though, at least it would reduce some of the backlash she was, unfortunately, destined to receive.

People could count, though. Once the baby was born, they would figure out just when this had begun; whether they would take it for a secret relationship or the accidental hook-up it was, well, they would just have to wait and see.

“Has anyone figured it out?” Taylor needed to ask, eyeing him cautiously. He was ripping open a little tub of raspberry jam with his teeth; she would’ve found it more attractive, if it weren’t for their unwelcomed news.

Harry set the jam back on his plate and picked up his phone again, going against his usual practice by typing their names into Google. Unsurprisingly, there were plenty of new articles, all boasting the same few photographs as if they had the inside scoop. Judging by the headlines, though, nobody really knew anything.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “’S all just bad headlines. _‘We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together… Or Not’_. That’s some hard-hitting journalism.”

“Let me guess: there are some _‘Never Go Out of Style’_ s?”

“One of the first ones, yes.” Glancing up at her, he offered a small smile, relieved that she didn’t appear like she was about to burst into tears or start screaming over this. “You sure you’re alright? I know this isn’t how you wanted this to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Taylor said, in part trying to convince herself of it as well. Smiling, she didn’t need any convincing of the fact, “We look pretty cute together.”

“Damn right.” Harry’s smile widened, and he shuffled closer, putting an arm around her and kissing her hair. She happily leaned into him, the soft wool of her jumper smoothing against his bare skin.

“Babe, you should really put some clothes on; you’re going to get cold like that,” she told him, rubbing a hand over his chest. Their suite was heated, but she hadn’t braved sitting around in next to nothing, having gotten dressed when she slipped out of the warm bed.

“I’m alright, love.”

Through breakfast, Harry didn’t bother putting anything on, though that was hardly unusual. They didn’t make much conversation; while it wasn’t a huge drama that part of their secret was out, it still stirred some unease. They didn’t need to look at what strangers out there were saying to know that unkind comments were being made about them by the minute.

With some hesitance, Taylor collected her own phone and opened up the Tumblr app. Really, she looked at it more than her fans expected; just because she wasn’t openly active nowadays, didn’t mean she wasn’t still checking up on them, seeing how they were doing. She cared a lot for the people who put their devotion in her. She hoped she wouldn’t find here what she would elsewhere.

Scrolling through, her bottom lip quivered; Harry mistook it for her reading something unpleasant, and he rested a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. But it was quite the opposite – she showed him the posts on her phone, the gushing comments of how happy the two of them looked together, how that was all that mattered. After months without any pictures of Taylor, her fans were thrilled to see her doing well, regardless of who she was with.

She let him take her phone, on the condition that he wasn’t going to sneakily like any posts while he had the power. Harry looked further down her dashboard than she did, smiling as he stopped at one particular post. He gave her phone back, open to a comment of how she was ‘glowing’. The smile she gave him in return was appropriately luminous; they didn’t have a clue just how right they were.

Wisely, they avoided the flip side of the remarks. They saw some, yet they weren’t going to torment themselves by digging any deeper.

“What people say about us isn’t going to change how I feel about you,” Taylor assured him, lacing her fingers with his. Harry rubbed his thumb affectionately over hers slowly, looking down at their joined hands.

“How _do_ you feel?” he asked quietly, tentatively.

Taylor opened her mouth, and promptly closed it again. How _did_ she feel? Over the last few months she had been trying to figure it out, yet with her flows of ups and downs, she had never been able to come to a definitive decision of _This Is How I Feel_.

All she could do was kiss him, and hope it was enough to convey what she couldn’t say with words.

Harry didn’t press her to speak, was sure she wouldn’t even if he tried. Neither one of them had started that conversation, too afraid that what the other might say wouldn’t be what they wanted to hear. As if they hadn’t already been telling each other things with their lasting glances and tender touches. As if it really looked like one of them was about to walk away.

With her lips moving compassionately against his, Taylor glided his hand to rest on the small swell of her stomach. Her heart had quickened, emanating fondness as she whispered what, despite all the mix of emotions she felt, had become her heart’s truth, “I want to have your baby.”


	3. Chapter Three

“There’s something I want to show you.”

Since before September, Harry had been keeping the songs he had worked on for his first solo album to himself. It was nothing personal – he had hardly played them for anyone, wanting to wait until he was confident they were at their best. He was nervous about showing himself – his actual self, not just as a part of a band – though it was a good kind of nervous. The excited kind.

Was he excited to play Taylor the final track list he had spend months trying to cut down to his ten favourite songs? Sure. But he was shit scared, too.

At first, Taylor had thought he was keeping to himself out of fear of her critique; she knew he looked up to her musically. It had occurred to her that maybe he had written songs _about_ her – she had written about _him_ , words tucked in journals that may never be heard. What she heard, though, was not quite what she had been expecting.

He had given her an iPod and let her find a quiet spot on her own, where he wouldn’t have to watch her reactions to his creations. All he told her was that he was thinking of making the second track his lead single; he had to decide quickly, before his label got too impatient and decided for him. He had already taken longer than they had been anticipating.

There _were_ songs about her. At least one – there was no doubt in her mind that ‘Two Ghosts’ was about her, all red lips and blue eyes and white t-shirts – but there were others she was rather suspicious of, too. One she couldn’t quite believe.

Harry was sitting in the lounge, attempting to focus on a book he’d taken from her shelf while he waited. After forty-five minutes, he was relieved of the task, slipping in a bookmark and perking up when Taylor finally came back downstairs.

She set the iPod on the table, making no move to join him on the couch. She was still deciding which of her feelings was the most prominent.

“It’s good,” Taylor told him, her tone and expression oddly serious. “Really good. You’ve really shown what you’re capable of.”

A small, shy smile, Harry nodded. “Thank you. What do you think of the single?”

“It’s bold. Going for such a long track and wanting radio play is a big risk,” she acknowledged, nothing he hadn’t already heard before. No matter what anyone said, though, Harry was set on making ‘Sign of the Times’, the song he was most proud of, his first single. “I think you can pull it off.”

“Yeah?” he said hopefully. “Thank you. I’m really happy with how that one turned out.”

“You’ll have to give me the sheet music for it.”

“Already planning on doing a cover better than my original?” he teased, and she cracked a small smile back at him.

“Something like that.”

“D’you think the sound’s okay? Like, it has a good flow?”

“You’ve opened and closed it perfectly. I like the mix you’ve got in between; it’s very you. Like all your favourites blended into one, but still so individually you. You’re really talented, Harry.”

While he felt rather chuffed at that, that quickly disappeared when she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Just one question: what the fuck is track seven?”

Ahh. Track seven.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“ _I’m having your baby, it’s none of your_ business?!” Taylor quoted incredulously. “How is that not what I’m thinking?! You’ve made me sound _terrible!_ ”

“It’s not _about_ you,” he tried to tell her, but her stare was harsher than he had been anticipating.

“Bullshit! How can you say that when I’m standing _right here?!_ ” She gestured up and down, emphasising her growing bump. “Unless you got another girl pregnant and haven’t told me about it.”

“I have not!” Harry scowled, offended she would suggest such a thing. “It’s not about anyone! It doesn’t mean anything. It was just a bit of fun – we made it all up, _before_ you and I happened.”

“Oh, so it’s supposed to be a coincidence, is it?”

“Yes!”

Taylor had a hard time believing that, the very fact blatantly obvious.

“Regardless of your intention, you and I both know what people are going to assume if you release it,” she stated, her use of ‘if’ not lost on him. “Nobody’s going to believe I never said that to you if it comes out of _your_ mouth.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be a big deal.”

“Are you _insane?!_ _I’m_ having your baby. Once the whole world knows that, everyone’s going to think I’m some… some crazy girl on drugs because of lyrics _you_ wrote.”

“People aren’t going to–”

“Yes, they damn well are! How can you honestly sit there and pretend that it’s going to have no consequence whatsoever?”

As soon as she had gotten up to the chorus of ‘Kiwi’, she had hated it. It wasn’t that she thought it was a bad song, not at all – she had liked the rockier sound up until then. She just couldn’t believe he had the audacity to release those lyrics when it was so obvious that his entire album was going to be scrutinised for any hints of any particular women.

“Taylor, I _promise_ , I never would’ve written it after you told me about the baby,” Harry expressed sincerely, desperate for her to calm down. He hated arguing with her. “But I _really_ like that song.”

“So your song is more important than my feelings?” Taylor concluded, not giving a shit if she was being unfairly manipulative. Every song she had released about him had been on a kind note; she had never said anything bad about him, couldn’t believe he thought he could really get away with this.

“That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Well that’s how it sounds! God, now I know why you’ve waited so long to show me anything.”

“Yes, I was worried what you might think, but I thought you’d _understand_.”

“What I _understand_ is that you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me. You don’t care that everyone thinks the mother of your baby is a crazy slut, as long as your record sounds good.”

An icy glare accompanied her vicious tone; Taylor rested her hand protectively on her stomach, spinning on her heel and stomping off. Harry called out after her, but he was smart enough to not follow her as she hurried back upstairs. Trying to reason with her when she was pissed off clearly wasn’t going to have any success.

Hiding in her bedroom, hot tears sprung in Taylor’s eyes. Even in her bedroom, she wasn’t free of him: Harry’s things had made themselves at home in her room, since he had come back to Nashville with her after their brief stint in Miami and had spent the last near two weeks with her. A good two weeks, too, until now.

Taylor was frustrated with herself almost as much as she was with him. She loved his album – she was so proud of him for experimenting and finding his sound, for creating an album that reflected who he was. And yet here she had given him the impression that she _didn’t_ feel that way, that _she_ only cared about _herself_.

The thing was, she _did_ understand. She knew what it was like to love a song so much that she _had_ to release it, regardless of what the subject might think. Sometimes, you just _had_ to say something.

And she _did_ believe him. He had written the song before she had fallen pregnant; he wouldn’t lie to her. It was just an unfortunate coincidence, one that Taylor couldn’t see a happy ending for her if he included the track on his album.

She couldn’t ask him to take it off. It was possible – she had changed track lists at the last minute, much to the inconvenience of her label – but she _couldn’t_ be that selfish. She had no right to dictate his music, would despise it if anyone tried to do it to her.

Throwing a tantrum wasn’t going to help anything. God, Taylor didn’t _want_ to be that emotional. She couldn’t just blame it on her change in hormones; that wouldn’t be fair on the baby, who was growing steadily, slowly stretching her stomach out. She could blame Harry, but that wasn’t fair either.

Curled up on her bed, tears having dried to salty tracks down her face, Taylor felt awful. This wasn’t how she had wanted this to turn out at all.

After quite some time, Harry braved coming upstairs. He wasn’t feeling all that great either; he’d been hoping for a better response, yet he felt like he had gotten exactly what he deserved. He had given her space, letting both of them calm down and recollect their thoughts, so they could talk things through like the adults they were.

While she heard him come in, Taylor didn’t turn to acknowledge him; she had laid on her side with her back to the door for that very convenience. Not speaking until he made it onto the bed with her, lying on his side a safe distance away, Harry kept his voice quiet.

“I’m really sorry, Taylor. I never meant to upset you.”

“I know.” Her voice was thick in her throat, and she coughed slightly to clear it. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I can take the song off, if you want me to,” Harry offered, tugging painfully at her heart. God, had she really made him feel that bad?

“But you’re proud of it.”

“I am,” he agreed, tracing aimless circles on the crinkled bedspread. “But it’s not worth hurting you over.”

“It’s a good song. A stand out, sound-wise. You need to leave it on there.”

“But what about you?”

“It’s not about me. It’s your record, not mine.” She rubbed a hand under her nose, wanting to turn into the comfort of his arms but at the same time too afraid; it was easier facing away from him. “It’s really good, Harry. The whole thing… you should be really proud of yourself. _I’m_ proud of you.”

Quietly sighing, for the most part in relief, Harry shuffled over to her and wrapped an arm around her, his body moulding against hers. Taylor let out her own breath, washed with an instant sense of ease from his very touch.

“I’m so sorry I made it sound like I’m not,” she apologised, as he breathed in the fruity scent of her shampoo. “You know I am, right?”

“I know, love,” he said gently, though he felt better to hear her say it. He _had_ been questioning it, with good reason.

“Will you please make it clear when you wrote it? I know people will say what they want regardless, but I’d really appreciate it if you could just… tell the truth.”

There was no other option, and even then, it was possible his efforts to say the song wasn’t about Taylor would be merely seen as PR. No matter how true something was, there would always be people too rigidly stuck in their own opinions to accept anything else. Still, it was worth a shot, if it only meant Taylor felt more at ease for his trying.

“Of course,” Harry agreed easily. He hadn’t wanted to take ‘Kiwi’ off the track list, was relieved that she wasn’t going to try to force it off. It was only meant to be a bit of fun – how the hell was he supposed to know that he actually would be having a baby so soon after penning the rock number?

With Harry holding his hand over hers, they both relaxed into silence, listening to the soft sound of each other’s breathing. Even coming to an agreement, something still didn’t seem quite right between them. It was only small, but Taylor felt… _something_.

Ignorance was bliss – she could pretend it wasn’t there for now, if it meant they would continue getting along again.

And so, she asked him something else she’d thought, something (hopefully) safer.

“Is ‘Only Angel’ about me?”

Taking him by surprise, Harry laughed, nuzzling his face against the soft billow of her hair. “Would you like it to be?”

“Yes,” Taylor replied definitely, starting to smile again a bit herself at the sound of his laughter.

One thing he had written remained stuck in her mind, however: they weren’t who they used to be.

So where did that leave them, exactly?

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“He’s driving me crazy.” Taylor took another bite of her slice of pizza, a string of cheese stretching between her slice and her teeth before it suddenly snapped, curling up at the crust. “He’s like, _‘Tay-lah, I’m so into you, but I’m not going to tell you how I really feel. Let’s fuck, but is that going to make you uncomfortable? I’m trying so hard not to hurt your feelings that I’m only succeeding in pissing you off.’_ ”

“Your accent is _terrible_.”

“That’s beside the point.”

With plenty to munch on, Taylor and Selena were set for a much-needed girls’ night. Selena had made the trip over from LA, trading places with Harry, who had packed his bags to head off to some meetings. Taylor had had a few peaceful days to herself, before her long-time best friend came to spend time with her.

“It’s just like we don’t know how to act around each other anymore. I don’t know.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“I don’t know _how_ to talk to him about it.”

Chewing on her own slice of pizza, Selena considered it. They had gone traditional for their night – sweats and relaxed t-shirts, pizza delivered, plenty of snacks for later, and, of course, no bounds girl talk.

“What do you want from him?” Selena asked, watching curiously from her spot sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the pizza box on the floor.

“I just want him to be there for me. For _us_.” Arching her back, Taylor sighed as she relaxed from her stretch. By week twenty-two, she was both feeling and looking pregnant. Her bump had grown; she still wasn’t very big, but she had ruled out all of her clothing that wasn’t loosely fitted.

“But you don’t want him to be so unsure.”

“ _Exactly_.”

Ever since Harry had played her his album, things had gone back to having a questioning undertone between them. He hadn’t hung around for much longer, which came as a relief. Taylor was used to living on her own (plus the cats, of course) and sharing her space with someone she wasn’t 100% sure of where she stood with them wasn’t proving to be the most enjoyable experience. They weren’t really fighting, but they were more careful with each other; some time apart would do them some good.

Taylor supposed it was something she was going to have to get used to, though. If they were going to have a family, they were probably going to be living together – right?

There was still so much they hadn’t figured out. Which city they wanted to stay in, how much time they would take off, where they wanted to send their child to school, or even what they might like to name it. They always seemed like questions they could put off until later, but they didn’t have forever. They would have to break the ice eventually.

It was much easier confiding in Selena about it, which said a lot about where they were currently at.

“It’s like… I want him to want me, y’know?” Taylor chewed on another bite of pizza, already ripping off a piece of garlic bread. “And I think he does, but… it just feels like last time. I don’t know what’s going on in his head.”

Selena nodded, taking a sip of her Diet Coke. Taylor had offered her wine, but Selena didn’t want to be drinking in front of her, not when so many of their girls’ nights ended with them both giggly from too many glasses. “If you had to guess what he’s thinking, what would it be?”

“ _Fuck, she has nice tits_ ,” Taylor said in that horrid accent again, needn’t pausing for thought, and the pair of them burst into laughter.

“That wouldn’t be wrong – look at you!”

Glancing down at her chest, Taylor shrugged. She wasn’t ordinarily confident about her body, especially not now. “That’s the only thing I know for sure. I _love_ the sex – we just connect, y’know? – but I can’t base a relationship on the fact he’s amazing in bed. Not a lasting one, anyway. What if all that passion fizzles out?”

Picking up a new slice of pizza, Selena gave her a doubtful look. “ _How_ long have you two been hooking up?” she reminded her.

“That’s different. If we don’t see each other often, of course it’s going to be more exciting when we do. But what if things get mundane? Is he still going to want me then?”

“He’d be crazy not to. You’re a total catch – and you’re going to be a perfect mom. What more could he want?”

“Someone with a nicer ass?” Taylor joked dryly. “I don’t know, Sel, I just wish he would say something without me having to initiate it. I don’t even know if I’m his girlfriend, and I’m blowing up like a balloon here!”

The extra slice of garlic bread she shoved in her mouth probably wasn’t helping.

“Do you _want_ to be his girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I think so, but I feel like I’d never know if he asked because he really wants me to be, or out of obligation. I can’t live my whole life with someone who is only with me because they think they _have_ to be.”

Selena was only half surprised when she said, “You’ve thought about marriage?”

Of course she had. A hopeless romantic, it was impossible for the idea not to occur to her that yes, a proposal just might come along with the baby. But was that what she wanted?

“I can’t say yes to someone who feels obligated to be with me,” she stated defiantly. Although, if he didn’t…

“Baby agrees,” she added, rubbing a hand over her stomach at her feeling of a flicker of movement within. “Put your hand here – you might not be able to feel it; Harry always misses it.”

Scooting over, Selena brushed her hand on her pants, wiping off any crumbs before resting her hand on her best friend’s belly. They waited, Taylor pressing down to try to instigate a reaction, but nothing more came, the stubborn thing.

“What’s it like?” Selena couldn’t help her curiosity.

“It’s like… just a little fluttering. Half the time I think I’m just imagining it,” Taylor admitted. “It’s nice, though. It’s like now I know it’s really there.”

It was unmistakable by now. Even under larger sweatshirts (ahem, _Harry’s_ sweatshirts), the newfound curve of her body was pronounced; there would be no hiding it, if she went out. The movement came more frequently now as the baby continued to grow. It had eyelids and eyebrows and fingernails now, organs still developing, and would soon start to fully resemble a newborn.

“You don’t even look that pregnant,” Selena commented, the same as what all her friends who had seen her recently had said.

“I know. Mom’s worried, but my doctor says I just got lucky. I’m just waiting to put on all the weight at once – I _bet_ that’s what’s gonna happen.” She shrugged. “It’s weird enough being this big. It’s already pressing down enough on my bladder – damn it, I have to pee again, ‘scuse me.”

Pushing herself up – oh, was she going to miss being able to easily get up and down and bend over – Taylor totted off to the bathroom, reappearing a minute later feeling more comfortable.

“Do you think I’m going to end up too fat to play piano?” Taylor went on to muse. “I think I can rule out guitar, but I think I’ll go insane if I can’t have either.”

“Just how fat do you plan on getting?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m about to have a giant baby,” she said, as if that wouldn’t have been obvious by now, if that were the case. Suddenly putting her hand back over her stomach, she rubbed soothingly. “Okay, it resents being called giant. Come feel.”

This time, Selena was able to catch the sensation of the baby shifting, and her eyes widened in awe that such a special thing was happening inside her best friend. “Oh my god. Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes. More now, though, than a few weeks ago.” Glancing up into her friend’s eyes, Taylor smiled shyly. “I’m gonna be a mom, Sel. I can’t believe I’m really about to be a mom.”

Selena wrapped her arms around her, smiling as they hugged. “You’re going to be the _best_ mom, Tay. You’re going to have the luckiest little girl or boy in the world.”

Both Taylor and Harry were still hoping for a girl; Taylor was still set on waiting to find out.

“Harry started calling it Peanut,” Taylor revealed, setting aside her doubts as to just how lucky the child would be. “Ever since he caught me eating straight from the peanut butter jar.”

“Oh, Tay,” Selena laughed affectionately.

“As if a woman who wants some peanut butter can’t just eat it out of the jar! Who needs bread, anyway?”

“Not you.”

“Not me!” A momentary pause before Taylor began to pout. “Great, now I want peanut butter.”

“Blame Peanut.”

“Bub doesn’t want to be called Peanut!”

“Why not? Peanut’s cute.”

“That’s exactly what Harry said.” Biting her lip, Taylor rested a protective hand over the baby. “Do you think he’ll want to stay this time?”

With certainty, Selena put her hand on top of hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “He will, Tay.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

The night before Harry’s first single was set to drop, they connected through FaceTime from their bedrooms, continents apart.

“Are you nervous?”

“’M shit scared.”

“They’re going to love it, Harry.”

Her phone propped up on the opposite pillow, Taylor smiled warmly at the vision of him on the screen. Tucked up in bed, her hair loose and her contacts replaced with glasses for the night, she was lying on her side, Harry mirroring her position in his own bedroom.

“I’ve learnt how to play it.”

“Of course you have.”

Taylor grinned. As soon as he had given her sheet music for ‘Sign of the Times’, she had set about learning it. Playing piano filled quiet days; she could sit for hours, playing and pausing to lose herself in thought. Nowadays, every day was quiet.

“Maybe I’ll just have to learn the whole record to intimidate you some more,” she cheekily suggested, giggling as he raised his brows.

“Who says I’m intimidated?”

“Asking that question indicates that you are.”

“Well, la di da.”

The pair of them laughed. It was a good, uncomplicated night between them, one they were rather thankful for.

“We need to make space for all the awards we’ll win when we collaborate,” Taylor added, with a sparkle in her smile.

“There are plenty of awards for children’s albums,” Harry nodded. “We’ll take out the Grammy for best nursery rhyme.”

“It’ll be wearing a little bonnet.”

“We’ll need a gold bonnet for Peanut. How’s your crocheting coming along?”

“It’s getting there. I’ve nearly finished the beanie.”

For something to stimulate her mind, Taylor had started to learn how to crochet, so she was able to make special little clothes for the baby. She was starting off with a simple beanie, planning on a set of booties next (as long as she could get the heel right). She was good at picking up new skills; it was going well so far. Maybe matching accessories for the whole family would soon be in the cards.

“You’re going to have a whole wardrobe done before it’s born,” Harry realised, and she shrugged a shoulder.

“They grow quick, so I was going to stagger the sizes. It gives me something to do, anyway.”

Since Selena had left, Taylor had been at a bit of a loss as to how to occupy herself. Without an album in the works and with no desire to be photographed how she was, she was limited to indoor activities, mostly on her own, unless Abigail or her mom stopped by. It wasn’t too bad – for the moment, at least.

“I can’t wait to see them, love,” Harry smiled genuinely. “I was thinking – would you like it if I came back in a couple days?”

“Would I _like_ it?” Teasing, Taylor tilted her head and arched her back, pretending to stretch as if she wasn’t aware that her scoop neck top had been flashing him a nice bit of cleavage this whole time, especially now. If only his phone screen was bigger.

“You’re a fucking tease, Swift,” Harry smirked, and she tried not to laugh as she resettled.

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.”

“You’re also a bad liar.”

Smiling, she told the truth when she said, “I’d like it if you stayed again.”

That was just what he had been hoping to hear.

“I’ll book a flight, then.”

“Just let me know when you’re coming so I can shower first.”

Harry stifled a laugh. “Charming.”

“Shut up, I had a bath the other night.”

“Now I think you’re just saying that to make me jealous I wasn’t there.”

“Sometimes a girl just wants to have a bath on her own, y’know?”

It had been strange, though, staring down at herself when she looked as she did. While she spent a few minutes daily massaging a recommended skincare oil into her stomach, hoping to avoid a multitude of stretch marks, Taylor didn’t exactly study her changing body. In the bath, she had noticed her nipples had darkened – though they stiffened as readily as usual, she had quickly discovered, and was sure Harry would be pleased to know.

“But when you get back, we could have one to celebrate you going to number one,” Taylor offered, sparking hope in both of them. “And before you argue: you’re definitely going to number one. And you better be celebrating when it happens. I’m gonna be streaming it, y’know?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Harry told her, flattered that she wanted to on her own accord.

“And miss your first solo radio play? I don’t think so, babe,” she smiled at him. “I’ll send you all my reaction pics, so, y’know, get excited.” Waving her hand with enthusiasm, she giggled, especially as it made him laugh, too.

“You’re so fucking adorable, Tay,” Harry grinned, wishing very much that he was already there with her or she was here with him. Anything to see her again.

“Who would’ve thought you were into the no-make-up-and-glasses look,” she said dismissively, while her insides warmed at the compliment, a feeling that never seemed to cease with Harry.

“I’m into _you_ , Tay,” he emphasised. “Tay Tay. My darling.”

The warmth spread to her lips, curving in a smile that was set on remaining. “ _Shhh_.”

“ _TAAAAAyyylllaaaAAAAAAHHH.”_

“Oh my god,” she laughed, covering her face with her hand. Oh, god, yes, she was adorable.

Harry couldn’t stop grinning, either; he longed to bundle her up in a hug and kiss her forehead. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, _HAAAAArrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyy_ ,” she sang back, laughing as soon as she ended the note. Reaching for her phone, she brought it up close to her face, pretending to kiss the screen. “Come soon, okay?”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

As it turns out, Harry realised his eagerness to return to Nashville was misguided.

All was well for the first few days; freshly reacquainting themselves from their time apart had always been enjoyable between them. They celebrated Harry’s number one – of _course_ he had hit number one with his single. Congratulations had come pouring in from all over, and for the moment, at least, the internet wasn’t so concerned about Harry and Taylor being back together.

It was when Harry grew restless, however, that he discovered how things had changed. All he had wanted was to get out of the house, find something different to do – he hadn’t thought that that would start a fight.

“I’d rather just stay in,” Taylor shrugged off his suggestion, though he wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

“We could go see a film,” he pressed. “D’you know what’s showing?”

“I haven’t checked.”

“I could look it up. Or we could go somewhere else. What’s there to do here?”

“I’m not really feeling up to anything, Harry,” she told him clearly, resting a hand upon her belly, both for her own comfort and to make him get the message. “You can take my car, if there’s somewhere you want to go.”

“I don’t want to just _leave_ you here.”

“It doesn’t bother me. You’re free to do whatever you want – you know that.”

“But I want to do something with _you_ ,” Harry persisted, frowning slightly at her hesitation.

“Well I don’t want to go anywhere, Harry! Not like this.”

Turning away from him, Taylor began to rummage aimlessly through the kitchen pantry. It was mid-morning, and she was already feeling peckish – but if Harry kept up his fixation on heading out, that wouldn’t last long.

He watched her from his spot on the opposite side of the island. The wise thing to do would be to let the subject drop, but he was unsettled by what he thought was running deeper.

“That’s it? You don’t want to go anywhere because of how you look?” he finally guessed. She didn’t answer, but he noticed her back stiffen. “You can’t just stay inside for the next three months!”

“Yes, I can!” Taylor turned back around empty-handed at that, her expression more of desperation than anger. “I can’t go out like this, Harry, I just can’t!”

Insecure enough in the first place, Taylor couldn’t imagine ever being comfortable to step outside and go about a normal day while she had an increasingly obvious baby bump. People would stare at her, and take pictures of her, and make her feel like total shit – she was certain of this, the very thought making her want to shrivel up and disappear.

If she didn’t _have_ to leave the house, she wouldn’t. Simple as that.

“What about your doctor’s appointments?” Harry challenged. “You planning on skipping those?”

“I’m not an idiot, Harry, of course I’m going to those! But that’s it – I don’t want to do anything else, I don’t want to be seen like this, okay?”

No, it wasn’t really okay, and Harry sure wasn’t going to be the only one who thought so.

“Are you… embarrassed?”

Taylor closed her eyes, slowly breathing in and out to recollect herself. While she didn’t appreciate his inquisition, she didn’t want to intentionally hurt his feelings, either. “It’s not about you. I could be having anyone’s baby and I would still feel this way. I just… I can’t have people taking pictures of me like this, okay? I just can’t.”

Glancing away, Harry ran his hand roughly through his hair, his lips pressed in a grim line. It didn’t look like he understood, and Taylor half wanted to shake some sense into him.

Shaking wasn’t necessary, though, as he went on to say, “I’m so fucking _pissed_ at everyone who’s made you feel like you can’t even leave your own house! Our lives are none of their fucking business! We should be able to walk down the street together without making headlines.”

“Well we can’t. Can you just drop it, please?”

As she went to grab a glass from one of the wall cupboards, Taylor had a good feeling that he wouldn’t. God, why did he have to be so _stubborn?_ Why did _she_ , for that matter?

“I can’t drop it if you’re serious about not going anywhere,” Harry, of course, went on. “You can’t just stay inside forever, Taylor, you’ll go insane.”

Lifting a glass out, she headed for the fridge for some chilled water, carefully avoiding his stare. “It’s not forever. Just until I stop resembling a bowling ball.”

“You’re pregnant, not diseased – what does it matter if people see?”

“What does it _matter?_ ” Taylor repeated incredulously. With a water jug in one hand, she looked at him this time, her expression of disbelief. “You did not seriously just say that.”

He should’ve given up. He knew he wasn’t going to win. He just couldn’t stop trying.

“We shouldn’t have to hide.”

“If you’re trying to guilt me into going out with you, it’s not going to work.” Once she poured her glass, she returned the jug to the fridge and leaned back against the counter, keeping her distance. She didn’t bother asking if he wanted a drink too. “Nothing you say is going to make this any easier for me.”

“Why should they win? Hiding gives them exactly what they want.”

“No, going out and showing off that I’m pregnant is what they want. Me staying inside doesn’t give them stories. Me getting knocked up does.”

“Taylor–”

“You’re not the one who’s pregnant! You can’t possibly know what it’s like for me right now.”

“Maybe if you _talked_ to me–”

“Don’t give me that shit, Harry, you’re not king of communication.”

“I’m trying to talk to you right now but you keep shooting me down!”

“Because you obviously don’t understand! You wouldn’t be trying to force me into going out if you did.”

“I’m not _forcing_ you into anything! I’m _worried_ about you!”

“Well you don’t need to be.” Pushing off the bench, Taylor took the few steps over to the island. “I’m not going anywhere, and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

While Taylor walked out the kitchen with her head held defiantly high, Harry was left deflated, not having a clue what he was supposed to do. What they had now just wasn’t working.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Taylor’s house had apparently acquired a revolving door: when Harry left, sooner than he had first been hoping to, Ed followed shortly after.

It was a lot easier with Ed. There was no question of where they stood with each other; they spent their days just relaxing. For two of music’s biggest stars – Ed was cruising on the high of the major success of his third album – they sure enjoyed their time together doing fuck all.

Ed also didn’t try to be unnecessarily polite by turning down her offer of alcoholic drinks, which she was rather pleased with. Nothing had changed between them at all.

On a cool spring night, they sat outside, stretched out on the grass. Ed had a beer to Taylor’s Diet Coke; she noticed the seat of her sweatpants growing damp more than he did.

“He’s pretty down, you know?” Ed decided to tell her, casually slipping it into a lull in their conversation. Taylor had been waiting for this – of course Harry had confided in him about what was going on between them.

“Yeah, well, he’s not the only one,” she replied flippantly. She didn’t _want_ things to be difficult, but she just… she just didn’t know what she was supposed to _do_.

What if things didn’t improve? It had been months now and they still weren’t on the same page. What if that meant they weren’t really meant to be together?

“Are you mad at him?”

“Not _mad_ ,” she said, drawing out the word as she considered it. “I just wish I could read his mind. Or he would just spell it out for me so I wouldn’t have to guess what he’s thinking.”

“Apparently you’re being mysterious yourself,” Ed enlightened her, glancing at her profile in the darkness. In a cloudless sky, the moon was casting a glow of light over the backyard, allowing them to see fairly well.

“I’m not _mysterious_ ,” Taylor almost laughed. “The only thing that’s mysterious is why I wanted that toast earlier. Don’t you dare tell him about that, he’ll never let it go!”

A slice of toast topped with peanut butter and a dollop of whipped cream was the latest of her cravings. An unexpected indulgence, she hoped it would stay between the two of them, but she wasn’t putting it past herself to make it again. It _had_ tasted rather nice.

“You know, he cried when he first told me about you,” Ed revealed. She noted that he didn’t promise not to mention the toast, darn him – Harry was going to tease her mercilessly for it.

Still, what he said was new information, something she wasn’t entirely sure he should be telling her in the first place.

“He’s an emotional person,” Taylor tried to pass it off, but she knew Harry: he wasn’t that emotional without good reason.

“He thought you would hate him.”

“ _I_ thought _he_ would hate _me_.”

In truth, Taylor had privately thought all of this had been her fault. It was easy to blame Harry, but she hadn’t stopped him from not using protection, even in spite of knowing on the rare occasion she forgot to take her pill, mostly when she wasn’t seeing anyone and wasn’t planning on having sex, anyway. She was sure she had taken it that day, but maybe it had slipped her mind. She would never know.

“He loves you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.”

“If he loves me, why isn’t he… I don’t know, throwing rocks at my window and asking me to be his girlfriend?”

Ed chuckled, shaking his head before taking a swig from his bottle. “I think he wants to do something bigger than that.”

“He what?” she asked, puzzled by the unexpected response. Ed only shrugged; he knew more than he was letting on.

“He’s really excited, you know? Partly why he cried.”

“Harry loves babies, everyone knows that,” she countered, half wanting to step back and find out what Ed wasn’t telling her, yet still wanting him to go on with whatever he would willingly offer up.

“D’you think he would feel the same with another woman?”

“Are you trying to tell me Harry wants _my_ babies? ‘Cause it’s a nice sentiment, but it’s a little weird coming from you.”

“I’m trying to help,” Ed smiled at her.

“And I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to play mediator between us.”

A close friend of both of them, Ed had been caught in the middle. He heard different things from either of them, and knew that what they wanted was the same – if only _they_ would figure that out.

“I just want to see the two of you happy.”

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, Taylor tilted her head to lean against his. “Tell him I accept truces in the form of chocolate. And cake. Preferably together.”

“And peanut butter and whipped cream,” Ed added teasingly, chuckling as her jaw dropped and she pulled away, giggling herself. “He wants to write an album dedicated to you, too. Not that he said it quite in those words, but you know. Reading between the lines.”

“His first isn’t even out yet and it practically _is_ dedicated to me,” Taylor pointed out. “Does he think I don’t know half the songs are about me?”

“You’re presumptuous.”

“Shut up,” she laughed. “You’ve heard it. But if he wants to write one specifically for me, he’s more than welcome to. As long as he says nice things.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he can take care of all the dirtiest diapers,” Taylor happily decided, giving her stomach a little pat. “I can nap, and he can get covered in shit.”

Ed winced at the unpleasant mental picture. “Glad it’s not me.”

“Oh please, you and Cherry are going to have a ton of adorable ginger babies.”

“They can play with all yours and Harry’s.”

Laughing, they raised their drinks and clinked them together, smiling as they each took long sips.

_All yours_ – not just one. Multiple mini Taylor’s and Harry’s – oh god, she wanted to have a proper family with him. The longer she spent with their baby growing inside her, the more she wanted it, to have children and be in love with someone who found ultimate happiness in her. She wanted _Harry_.

They just had to work things out.

… _Without_ communicating through Ed.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“Pack your bags.”

Now there was three words she hadn’t been expecting.

Taylor blinked, uncomprehending. “I think I misheard you.”

“Pack your bags,” Harry repeated – no, she had definitely heard him correctly. The question was why he was standing in her living room, saying them to her face.

Naturally, after Ed made his departure to jet back into his career reality, Harry had come back to Nashville. Not for long, though: he had come with a purpose, and he didn’t intend on things turning out any other way than he had meticulously planned.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise that… isn’t here?”

Had he forgotten her stance on leaving the house?

Harry smiled, taking her hands in his and squeezing gently, reassuringly. “What would you say if I told you we’re going somewhere no one will find us?”

“I’d say you’ve lost your mind,” Taylor half laughed. “Or that you’re setting up for a horror movie. Are you taking us to the woods so we can get eaten by bears, or murdered by a psycho with a scary mask?”

“You’re very funny,” Harry grinned at her. “You can’t say no – I know you don’t have any doctor’s appointments this week, I checked with your mum.”

“My mom knows about this?” she asked in surprise. She had no idea that he was in contact with either of her parents; they hadn’t mentioned anything.

“How else would I have sorted out your plane?”

“Mom said _she_ wanted to use it! She asked if she could borrow it to take dad away!”

“Why do you think she didn’t mention _where_ she wanted to go?”

Okay, yeah, she had found it odd that her mom had asked if she could use her private jet yet gave her no other details about the desired trip. She had just assumed she hadn’t sorted it all out yet, not that she was secretly plotting something with _Harry_.

It made sense, though. She was worried about how Taylor was doing mentally, when she felt trapped inside her own home. She had been trying to encourage her to take small steps, whether it be going for a walk or buying groceries, but to little effect. If Harry had reached out to her for help, it was easy to understand why Andrea had said yes.

“I’m sorry for going behind your back, but I wanted to have a proper plan first,” Harry explained, his gaze never faltering from her face. “I, um. I know what you said last time, but I _promise_ no one is going to see us where we’re going.”

She had a hard time believing that; it showed clearly on her face.

“Do you trust me?”

“No,” Taylor replied, though she was smiling as she said it. Leaning in, Harry kissed her slowly, a smile on his own lips.

“How about now?”

“A little.”

He kissed her again, and even though they were teasing, Taylor seriously started to warm to the proposition. Clearly, he had thought things through – he wouldn’t be asking her to do something she wouldn’t be comfortable with. Would he?

And honestly… Taylor did really want to get out of here. Used to travelling for work, she was starting to feel restricted, now that she had a baby bump and paranoia of word getting out. She didn’t think there was anywhere they _could_ go, but maybe Harry really had come up with a bright idea.

Being with Harry had always been about taking risks. What was one more?

“Where are we going?”

His delight was so evident her heart skipped a beat at the radiance of his beam. “It’s a surprise.”

“How am I supposed to know what to pack if I don’t know where we’re going?”

“Pack summery. Like… hypothetical cocktails on beaches.”

Raising a brow, Taylor wondered just how hypothetical he was talking. “Do I look fit to be parading around a beach?”

“You always look fit, baby,” Harry smirked slightly, kissing her again. God, did her heart really have to swoop whenever he turned on the charm? “I’ll help you pack.”

“Are you sure it’s going to be okay?” she had to check. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, it’s just…”

“I know,” he said gently, tucking her hair behind her ear with a kind touch. “But I promise, I’ve got it all sorted.”

She better not regret this.

“When are we going?”

“Flight’s at two thirty.”

“ _What?_ That’s less than five hours away! How did you know I’d say yes?”

“I had a pretty good feeling.” His grin had her good-naturedly rolling her eyes. Of _course_ he had thought he could convince her, one way or another.

“I can’t just get up and go. There are things to sort out – what am I going to do with the cats?”

“Your parents should be around at about eleven thirty; they’ll take them.”

Taylor stared at him in amazement. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Harry joked. “C’mon, let’s get you ready.”

Together, they packed her suitcase, Harry giving direction on what he thought she would need without giving too much away. Taylor found it difficult to sort through her clothes: while ordinarily a ‘summery’ getaway would be easy to pack for, with her bountiful array of dresses and skirts, it wasn’t so simple when she had to factor in her ever-increasing size. Apparently, though, she needn’t worry too much.

“It’s just going to be me and you, Tay,” he reminded her.

“You say that as if I don’t want to look nice for you,” she said as she hung a yellow skater dress back up in her wardrobe. Expecting that to fit was wishful thinking.

“You always look nice,” Harry insisted. As soon as she opened her mouth to protest, he threw a sock at her, which bounced off her shoulder, both of them giggling. “Don’t even say it.”

“Get out of my underwear drawer,” Taylor smiled over at him, deciding just to accept the compliment. “I can pack those myself.”

Ignoring her, Harry plucked out the first lacy pair he spotted, holding them up to inspect. “You sure you don’t need a second opinion?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you perv.”

“Pft.” Tucking them back in the drawer, he shrugged. “It’s a holiday – why bring any at all?”

“Oh my god, you can’t seriously be so flirty when I look like this.”

“Can’t I?”

Harry strode the few steps over to her, holding her gaze as he rested his hands on her waist. Slowly, he kissed her, lips parting to slip his tongue between hers. The intensity had Taylor gripping his shoulders, trying to hold together her quickly weakened resolve.

When he pulled away, it was only slight, yet it felt much too far after he’d just done _that_. “Can’t I?” he repeated softly, making Taylor groan as she quickly cupped his face and reconnected their lips. God, did she love reunions with him.

So okay, maybe he _could_ still want her like that. Even so, she doubted they were about to jet off on a sexy vacation, not like they might’ve before.

But if he was going to keep kissing her like _that_ , well, she would be more than happy to be proven wrong.

“Should finish packing before your parents get here,” Harry said reasonably, pulling away much sooner than she would’ve liked, which could only mean one thing: he had plans for something better later. Taylor could hardly wait.

They got Taylor’s suitcase neatly zipped up before her parents arrived. She still couldn’t believe that her mother had been in on the secret; both her mom and dad looked thrilled to see her happily packed, a contrast to the _missing you already_ expressions they normally wore when she was about to depart from them. Maybe Harry really _had_ won them over.

His kind manners and genuine interest in his polite questions certainly did him plenty of favours as they ate lunch as a four. Taylor was impressed herself, and not just because she was incredibly intrigued by the care he had shown her in coming up with his surprise.

A task she was happily relieved of was trying to get the cats into their carriers. It was never an easy job: Taylor watched on in amusement as Harry and her dad tried to wrangle the felines, who vehemently opposed to being contained. Practiced, Taylor might have had better luck in getting it over with quicker, but it was more fun to watch Meredith try to hide behind a lampshade while she stood off to the side stroking her baby bump, sure that despite her shape she would be more capable. But if the men were keen on getting scratched, well, who was she to argue?

Eventually, they were all set to go. Her parents drove them to the smaller airport she normally favoured; Harry held her hand the whole ride over, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, her heart fluttered as if all this were new between them.

In one of Harry’s hoodies and with his arm resting protectively around her waist, Taylor didn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as she had expected to when they arrived at the airport. It was quiet, yet she still kept her head down, just in case anyone was to look their way. If Harry really was right in saying they were going to be alone on their trip, this would be the one place where people had the chance to take pictures of her. She prayed that no one had been so invasive as to track her private jet.

“You take it easy, okay?” Andrea reminded her, once they were set to say their goodbyes.

“I’m sure I will, wherever we’re going,” Taylor replied, glancing between her mom and Harry, fishing for a clue as to their destination. It hadn’t worked all afternoon; it wasn’t about to now. “Seriously? I get nothing?”

“You better get going,” her dad said, disregarding her inquiry. Both her parents gave her hugs, while Harry was offered trusting smiles.

“Take care of her,” her mom asked of him, and he beamed back charmingly.

“Always.”

While a part of her was in favour of a major eye roll, Taylor’s urge to smile brightly at him won. Maybe it was just their usual spell of happiness they had when finally seeing each other again after time apart, but she thought it was different this time. Harry was making an obvious effort, and while things might not change, at least he was trying.

Maybe she needed to try a little more too.

On board the safety of her own plane, they settled down in their desired seats, Taylor calling dibs on the space by the window. Unless he was taking her somewhere she would immediately recognise, it wouldn’t matter whether she could see outside or not.

“Can I pretty, pretty please have a hint about where we’re going?” Taylor continued to persist, much to Harry’s amusement.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“You do know I have authority over this plane, right? If I ask the pilot, he has to tell me.”

“You’re not going to ask the pilot.”

“And what makes you so sure about that?”

“You’d have to get past me first.” Shifting in his seat, Harry rested a hand on her stomach, rubbing affectionately.

“Are you suggesting I’m too fat to get past you?” Taylor insinuated, laughter in her voice. In economy, maybe, but her jet had premium seating. If there was room to comfortably recline her chair without worrying about running out of space, there was room for her to get past his seat.

“Stop calling yourself that,” Harry chastised, not for the first time. “You have grown a lot since I last saw you, but– _Oh!_ ” His eyes darted down to where his hand sat, lighting up delightfully. “It moved!”

Taylor grinned at his excited expression. “Press down a bit here,” she suggested, guiding his hand further down. As soon as he applied some pressure, the baby kicked back in response, and Harry looked like he had just found out she had actually invented the sun.

“That’s amazing!” Only a few times had he actually been able to feel the baby move; suddenly, Taylor wanted to give it to him as much as possible, seeing how happy it clearly made him. “What’s it like for you?”

“Strange,” she laughed honestly. “It doesn’t do it all the time, but it’s like… it gets a bit squirmy sometimes.”

“ _Squirmy?_ ” Harry grinned, laughing as he rubbed her tummy. “What, is it dancing around in there?”

“I think so.”

“Must take after its mum.”

The baby kicked again, and they grinned at each other.

“I think it recognises daddy’s voice,” Taylor thought, leaning over to give him a kiss. “We’ve both missed you.”

“I’ve missed both of you, too.”

They spent a wonderful while kissing some more, passing part of their time in the air. It was just as well they were the only passengers – nobody quite needed to see them turned toward each other, hands in each other’s hair while their lips pressed eagerly against each other’s.

While Taylor resisted the urge to climb across onto his lap to get closer, Harry seemed inclined to take things further. Breaking from her lips, he trailed kisses down her neck; she sighed contentedly, tilting her head for him.

“ _Harry_ ,” she giggled, as his hand slipped up under her hoodie. Gliding up her skin, he cupped her breast; she wasn’t going to admit she wished she wasn’t wearing a bra. “I’m not about to renew your membership to the mile high club.”

Snorting, Harry squeezed her breast, pulling away enough from her neck to look up at her through his lashes. “Not even if I say please?”

“You’re terrible,” Taylor smiled affectionately, pressing a kiss to his pouting lips. “How about I promise you a raincheck?”

“That would mean you’d like to fly someplace else with me,” Harry slowly pointed out, while tracing the tips of his fingers down her side. “So yeah, ‘s good with me.”

Some more kisses aside, they spent a good majority of the terribly long flight getting some rest. That was part of the plan: sleep while they were in the air, so they would be ready for the day they’d face when switching time zones. They had had to catch up on sleep while on planes so much over the years that drifting off wasn’t a big deal.

Harry woke her up when they were close to descent. Propping their seats up normally, Taylor peered out the window for clues, looking down through the clouds dotting the sky. She didn’t recognise the landscape below.

She didn’t bother trying to ask him now; determined as he was, Harry wasn’t going to reveal anything until they touched down. Honestly, she was kind of impressed by his tight-lipped insistence on keeping his surprise a surprise. She was dying of curiosity, yes, but she was glad he hadn’t cracked. It made it all the more exciting.

Once off the plane, Taylor tried to better pinpoint their surroundings. It looked to be mid-morning, with fair weather; they weren’t at a major airport. By the length of the flight, she knew they weren’t still in America, but that didn’t narrow it down enough. Nothing clearly gave it away.

“Will you tell me where we are now?” Taylor asked as Harry came beside her and took her hand.

“Rockhampton.”

She had never heard of it.

“What’s in Rockhampton?”

“’S not Rockhampton we’re after,” he said, which confused her all the more.

“Which country are we in?”

“Australia. On the east coast.”

“So what’s on the east coast of Australia?”

Harry’s eyes sparkled at her. “You’ll see.”

They weren’t bustled off into a car to be driven to their next destination like she was expecting. Oh no, Harry had something _much_ more impressive than that up his sleeve.

Their luggage was transferred onto an awaiting helicopter, which Taylor stared at in disbelief. They were not _seriously_ getting a helicopter – were they?

“You said nothing about riding in a helicopter.”

“Well, yeah, it would’ve spoiled the surprise,” Harry pointed out with a laugh, checking her reaction to his next part of the plan. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“I don’t know who’s more insane: you, for coming up with all this, or me, for going along with it,” Taylor thought dryly, starting to smile as he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Either way, she didn’t really mind.

Their helicopter flight saw them heading further east, over land until they reached the ocean. Both watched out the window at the changing scenery in admiration, holding hands as they sat strapped in side by side.

In agreement with the pilot, Harry had extended the flight’s route, making it both a practical and scenic trip. After all, how many times did they ride in helicopters, let alone ride in one over one of the world’s natural wonders?

“No way!” Taylor gasped, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of the chopper. “Is that the Barrier Reef?”

Harry nodded, grinning back at her, and she gave his hand another squeeze in excitement.

They flew around the lower section of the reef, the vast expanse of coral clear through the sparkling blue water. They had both seen it in pictures, but it wasn’t the same as flying over it and getting a proper look for themselves, seeing from a distance the complex ecosystem that lay beneath. Harry promised he would bring her back one day to go diving, so they could discover it from both in the air and under the water.

After a remarkable tour, they found land, though it wasn’t the mainland. Most visitors went by boat, but Harry had thought the helicopter a more memorable entrance to the island he had arranged for them to stay.

It wasn’t all that big; it suited small groups, for family getaways, weddings, honeymoons. There was plenty of opportunities for hiking and exploring, taking pictures, playing games, and of course, swimming along the stretches of beaches. The best part? There wasn’t even one single other person there. For one week, it was all theirs.

Harry had booked a private island for her, and Taylor nearly burst into tears when she realised just what he had done.

“Welcome to Pumpkin Island!” Harry announced once they hopped off the helicopter. He rested one hand on the small of her back while he thrusted the other out enthusiastically, watching her stunned reaction to their new location.

“Is that really what it’s called?” Taylor checked; she wasn’t sure she’d be that shocked to find all this was a joke. She didn’t know _what_ to expect anymore.

“That is definitely what it’s called,” he assured her confidently. “I don’t know if they grow pumpkins here, though, actually. Guess we’ll find out.”

“How did you find this place?”

“I looked up islands you can rent and–”

“You _what?_ ” Taking a pause on her sweeping gaze, she swivelled her head back to him, staring incredulously. She had to be mishearing again. “You rented this _entire island_ for the two of us?”

“I told you we were going to have total privacy,” he reminded her, smiling wonderfully as he finally got to unveil his secret. “We’ve got a place not too far – well, it’s a bit of a walk from here. ‘S by the beach, and it’s got everything we need. I sorted out with the owners to have all our food dropped off yesterday, since I didn’t think you’d really want to stop by a supermarket on the way; that’s not very fun. And we’ve got access to all the equipment, so we can do whatever we like. We can just hang out on the beach the whole time, if you wanted to. There’s no one at all to stop us.”

Taylor was speechless. He _knew_ how much this meant to her. He knew how hard things had been for her over the last few months, and he had gone out of his way to do something special for her, making sure that she would be comfortable the entire time. Nobody had ever done something so extravagant and thoughtful for her before; this wasn’t just a ploy to impress her. While it was a vacation for him too, this trip was all for her.

Tears sprang in her eyes as she realised just how much she meant to him. Her doubts were swept away by the force of the departing helicopter’s blades – she was unquestionably in his heart. And he was in hers, too.

“I had a feeling you were going to cry,” Harry smiled as he wrapped her up in a hug, making Taylor laugh a little as she tried not to let any tears fall.

“I can’t believe you did all this for me,” she sighed in awe. “If you really wanted to do something nice for me, you could’ve just bought me flowers.”

Harry laughed this time, rubbing her back affectionately. “I’ve bought you flowers before – I’ve never rented an island.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Taylor grinned, pulling back enough to cup his face and give him a long, passionate kiss, the first of many she would give him over their time here.

Following a map Harry had printed off, they set off down a dirt track to find the house they were staying at. Taylor insisted on carrying her own bags, though after a few minutes of dragging her suitcase along uneven ground, she began to wish she had taken up Harry’s chivalrous offer and let him take it for her. It would’ve been fun to watch him try to battle two big suitcases through the dirt, at least.

The house was simple, accommodating for all the essential needs. With electricity and hot water, they had a fully stocked fridge thanks to the extensive list Harry had requested and paid extra for, on account that guests staying self-service normally brought their own groceries themselves and he felt a little guilty for being an inconvenience. There was phone service but no wi-fi, though with the location they had, that was hardly an issue. Sitting around on the internet all day was a ridiculous option here.

There were hammocks outside and Taylor jumped into one, laughing as it swung her from side to side as she laid down. Harry had taken his camera out of his suitcase once they had settled inside and snapped a shot of her, the very first to mark their island getaway.

“How you feeling, babe?” he asked, still watching her through the viewfinder.

“Like I’ve been taken to paradise,” she smiled at him, still swinging gently, quickly realising that he was filming her. “This is amazing.”

“You’re amazing.”

“You’re so cheesy,” she said, though he still captured the adorable smile his compliment brought her.

Before anything else, they wanted to check out the beach. As they kicked off their shoes as soon as they reached sand – and were able just to leave them and the camera there, since there was nobody around to take them – Taylor realised just how much she had missed having freedom. She was used to having restrictions in a bid of privacy, but she had placed so many more on herself now. Breathing in fresh air, feeling sand between her toes, was just what she needed to unwind. She was never going to be able to thank Harry enough for giving it to her.

Harry took her hand, and together they ran down to the shore – god, Taylor couldn’t remember the last time she had been running outside. She was laughing, squealing as soon as cold water hit her toes and as Harry slid his arm under her thighs and swept her off her feet.

“Harry!” Her head tilted back, her laughter floated out of her truly. She kicked her legs, knowing how much she weighed and sure it was too much for him to be carrying her around. Harry’s arms were strong, though; they were where she belonged.

Spinning her around, Harry went on to threaten to drop her in the water, which had her clinging on tighter and kicking her legs more adamantly. He took a few steps further in, not caring about the ankles of his jeans getting wet, to the sound of her shrieking, “No, no, no, don’t you dare! Don’t you dare throw me in like this!”

He wouldn’t – he would wait until they had changed properly next time they came, and take her out to water that wasn’t so shallow.

“You are so beautiful when you laugh,” Harry admired, but she just shook her head.

“No, you will not lull me into a false sense of security with your compliments! Put me down – _on the sand!_ ”

“You do know that under the water, there’s sand,” he pointed out, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Don’t make me lick you,” she threatened, in lieu of something more menacing while she was restricted by her position.

“Don’t make me enjoy it.”

Just for that remark and accompanying smirk, Taylor actually did lick him, a fat stripe up his cheek. At least it got him to put her down, even if it was so the ends of her leggings did get wet in the water’s edge.

“You’re disgusting!”

“You liked it!” Taylor sang teasingly, beginning to skip away from him along the shore. “You want me to do it again!”

“That is _not_ where I liked to be licked!” he called back after her.

“Maybe I’ll lick where you like to be licked if you make me some lunch!”

“Right now?”

“I wanna walk a bit more first.”

Once he caught up to her, they walked along the shoreline together, admiring the beach that was all theirs. Private beaches were one thing, but a whole island? Taylor almost pinched herself to check she wasn’t dreaming this entire thing.

Back up at the house, Taylor sat herself at the table after getting changed into more practical clothes, while Harry introduced her to the array of food supplies on hand.

“And over here we’ve got some biscuits,” he said, opening up the pantry, “some Oreos, some tea, of course. Cereal, Nutella, peanut butter, some whipped cream… You know there’s bread, and a toaster, if you’re interested.”

As he looked over his shoulder at her with an awful grin, Taylor shook her head in exasperation. “Asshole! I knew he’d tell you!”

“He thought it was funny,” Harry shrugged, clearly glad that Ed had divulged her would-be secret craving. “ _I_ think it’s funny. Who puts whipped cream on bread?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it.”

“How could I forget? Whipped cream is your guilty pleasure.”

“I so don’t feel guilty about it.”

“Then why didn’t you want me to know?”

He had her there and he knew it. With his teasing grin, Taylor relented, admitting, “Maybe I felt a _little_ guilty. But only because I knew you were gonna make fun of me for it!”

“And why would you think such a thing about me?” he asked, faking shock.

“You’re making fun of me _right now!_ ” she insisted, laughing. They had always been like this; she didn’t want it any other way. Something wasn’t right between them when they felt they couldn’t mess around with each other.

“Would you rather I stop?”

“I would not.”

“Good. Now, can I fix you up one of these _special_ sandwiches?”

“I’d rather some grilled cheese, actually.”

They ate a more typical lunch of cheese toasties, reviving them for some more exploring over the afternoon. Tying up their shoelaces, they headed out along a dirt track leading off from the house, venturing off into the nature that was their home for the week.

Between the bird calls and leafy trees, Taylor could hardly stop thinking about Harry and all he had done for her. Her heart sighed every time she glanced at him walking along beside her, holding branches out of the way for her whenever their trail got a little too close. He hadn’t needed to do any of this; the fact that he had made her realise that he was all in.

He could’ve left when she told him about the baby. He could’ve abandoned her, let her raise it on her own, with all the added pressure she was going to have from strangers who thought their opinions really mattered. Harry had never been like that, but he could’ve surprised her with that sort of change of heart.

Maybe things would never really be easy, but if he cared about her in the way she was now sure he did, maybe it would still be okay – better than that, even.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Paradise had its drawbacks, they learnt the following morning, when Taylor ran screaming out of the bathroom.

“Get rid of it!” she cried when Harry hurried over from the kitchen to investigate her distress.

“Get rid of what?” he asked levelly, following the accusing point of her finger and not immediately finding the source.

“The giant fucking spider! It’s like the size of your head!”

“I can’t be _that_ big.” But sure enough, when he stepped into the bathroom, he discovered that she wasn’t _totally_ being a drama queen. “What the _fuck_ is that?!”

On the wall above the mirror sat a huntsman – nowhere near the size of either of their heads, but far too big for either of them to be calm about. If he had realised that he was going to have to play bug catcher, he wouldn’t have picked Australia as their destination.

“Kill it!”

“ _How?!_ ”

“Squish it!”

“You want me to squish _that?!_ ”

Harry looked at the wall doubtfully. No way was he going to catch it and release it outside, and squashing it with the sole of a shoe seemed kind of… disgusting.

“Be the man,” Taylor prompted, when he made no effort to deal with it.

“Why does the man have to do it?”

“Because I’m not going anywhere near it!” she cried. “Do not make me play the pregnancy card.” He raised his brow at her as she ran a hand over her stomach, and she gave him an equally stubborn stare back. “This is make or break, babe.”

Somehow, he knew she wasn’t totally kidding.

“Check the kitchen, see if there’s any bug spray,” Harry requested, keeping an eye on the spider while she hurried off. Why couldn’t it have stayed hidden – or outside, for that matter – so they could’ve had the more peaceful morning he had been anticipating?

A few minutes later, Taylor returned with a can she had thankfully found in one of the cupboards. Hesitantly, she waited in the doorway to watch as Harry shook the can and got in position. Honestly, if he missed–

“Holy _shit!_ ”

Taylor screamed and jumped back as the spider made a break for it, followed by a long spray of insect repellent.

“Fucking speedy–”

“Kill it!”

The spider darted down the wall, quick as ever despite the spray coating its furry body. Harry didn’t let up, determined to get rid of it for the sake of their relationship – and for all they knew, it was a venomous one that could very well kill _them_ if they didn’t get it first.

“Will you fucking die already, you bastard?!” Harry demanded, as the spider wriggled about in the corner by the shower. It was covered in a film of white repellent, and while it had stopped running, thank god, it was still trooping on by squirming its many legs.

“Is it dead yet?”

“Not yet. It’s not looking good, though.”

Creeping back into the bathroom, Taylor peered around at the blob on the floor that Harry had crouched down to inspect. He was right: it wasn’t about to spring back to life to cause any more panic, so she slipped her fingers into his hair thankfully. “You’re a good man, Harry.”

He laughed, smiling up at her. “Gotta protect my girl,” he said, with an affectionate rub of her leg. “Let’s get out of here, babe, it reeks, can’t be good for you.”

“Leave the window open a bit,” she suggested, as she eagerly left the bathroom. “As long as it doesn’t invite any more in.”

The fly screen would prevent that, as he cracked open the window to let some fresh air in to dispel the chemical smell. They headed for the kitchen, relieved that the morning’s event was over; it was probably for the best that neither knew that huntsmen were social spiders.

“I’m gonna go lie down in one of the hammocks for a bit,” Taylor decided, raking her hand through her messy hair while her other remained protectively over her bump. She liked excitement, but not _that_ kind.

“I’ll get you some coffee, darling,” Harry told her, brushing a hand over her back as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Outside, Taylor slipped into one of the many hammocks the island retreat had to offer. Closing her eyes, she felt the morning sun begin to warm her, calming her down again.

After a few minutes, she heard the door open as Harry came out to join her, carrying two cups of coffee in his hands. He plopped down on the grass beside her, smiling as he offered her a drink.

“Do you think there are snakes out here?” she asked, after taking a careful, much-needed sip.

“I certainly hope not,” he laughed, the thought having occurred to him too. It was entirely possible that they would encounter one during a hike around the island, but god, did they hope it wouldn’t happen.

“You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, did you?”

“Well, no one would hear you scream,” he pointed out, making her smile.

“Are you trying to get me to say something dirty now?” she teased, wiggling her bare toes. “I’ve done enough screaming for one morning.”

“I don’t really think you have,” he disagreed, setting his cup down and shifting onto his knees. Taylor squirmed in the hammock, giggling, and when Harry did get closer, he simply cupped her face and kissed her.

“If we try to have sex on this thing, one of us is guaranteed to get hurt.”

“Don’t make this a challenge, Tay. I’m sure we could figure out a way.”

“The spider drama exhausted me. And we haven’t even had breakfast yet, you really expect me to–”

Cutting her off with another kiss, Taylor moaned quietly into his mouth, and okay, sure, they had slept together plenty of times before breakfast, but not outside, and certainly not on a hammock. It seemed a recipe for disaster.

“Feed me first.”

“And then what?”

“Then you’ll have a happy girl,” she smiled at him playfully, giving him one more promising kiss.

After having breakfast outside, they slipped inside for some more kissing, on the stable surface of the bed. Well, it was more Harry distracting her while she intended on getting dressed, but when they had no reason to rush and he kissed her like _that_ , of course she didn’t mind.

After a while, they decided to head out to the beach; why not make the most of it while they had the chance? Taylor slipped into her bikini while Harry got rid of the, now dead, spider in the bathroom, feeling terribly self conscious when he returned to find her trying to adjust her top in the mirror’s reflection.

Heat rose in her cheeks as he drew out her name in a tone of appreciation; what he saw couldn’t have been the same as what she did. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her middle and kissed her on the cheek, though he frowned a little when he caught her expression in the mirror. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I haven’t bought any swim suits since…” She gestured briefly at the swell of her stomach. “I look silly.”

“You do not.”

“It’s not supposed to be this tight!”

When packing, she had ruled out all of her more comfortable one-pieces, as well as her more fitted tops. That left her with string bikinis she figured would be easier to adjust around her changing shape, and while it mostly worked, she still felt she looked ridiculous.

“You know we could just go naked,” Harry pointed out, grinning as she elbowed him in the ribs.

“We are not skinny dipping in broad daylight.”

“What about when it’s dark?”

“ _Harry_.”

“It’s just us here,” he reminded her, trailing his hands up to cup her breasts, full and not completely covered by the fabric of her bikini. “And I think you look sexy.”

“I’m _pregnant_.”

“ _Sexy_ ,” he insisted, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder as he squeezed her breasts. Of course he would think that, typical male, she was flashing him a ton of cleavage!

He was right, though. It was only the two of them there, so what did it matter? The only person going to see her like this was Harry, and he clearly liked her attire. Maybe she just needed to relax – that was what they were here for, after all.

“Can you help me put sunscreen on?” Taylor requested, deciding that no, she shouldn’t have to throw a shirt on over the top just because she didn’t have an Insta-worthy bikini body. Her insecurities weren’t easy to ignore, but she knew she deserved to be comfortable regardless of how she looked.

Briefly, she remembered a past bikini shot she had posted on Instagram and fought back a shudder. She wasn’t going to be making _that_ mistake again, both in choosing a partner and what of her personal life she posted online.

While she had only intended on him helping her apply sunscreen to her back, Harry took pleasure in rubbing it all over her body, unhurried as he got to touch her all over. She appreciated it – perhaps a little too much, if the growing heat between her thighs at the firm, thorough touch of his hands was anything to go by.

Unsurprisingly, Harry felt the same, she discovered when he took a step back to look at her, as if admiring his work. Taylor smiled at him, twisting her toe girlishly on the floor, and she extended her hand out for the sunscreen tube. “Let me do you.”

Helping apply sunscreen didn’t typically involve giving a hand job afterward, but they never really had been ordinary.

Once they headed down to the beach, they didn’t want to leave. The water was refreshingly cool, perfect once they became accustomed to the temperature. A clear, sparkling blue, the ocean was completely undisturbed; here and there they could spot schools of small fish, darting around in search of microscopic meals they were unaware of floating in the water with them.

Splashing, running, teasing – Taylor and Harry played around for hours, completely carefree. Even in a short time, Harry could see the effect it was having on her, a fresh lightness in her features, tension released from her muscles. She seemed less guarded, now that she had an entire island as her private playground. He could only hope that some of that relaxation would stay with her, even after they had to go.

Or at least, he hoped their amiable bond would remain. So far, Taylor hadn’t given him one of those withering looks that made him wish he were someone else, someone better, and he very much hoped to keep it that way.

Letting go of her insecurities, Taylor even let him take pictures of her on the beach, posing in her bikini with a hand resting proudly over her bump. Harry whistled at her and she threw her head back laughing, another gorgeous shot for the holiday collection.

“Why do I get the feeling these are gonna help you through many lonely nights?” Taylor teased as she sat cross legged across from him on the sand, tilting her head as Harry smiled down at the camera’s LCD showing the last photo he’d taken.

“’Cause they are,” he replied brazenly, his smile broadening as she laughed. Leaning forward on her hands, she squished her boobs together for him in his next picture; she needn’t make him promise not to show anyone when she already trusted that he wouldn’t.

When he lowered the camera, Taylor leaned further still to kiss him, his voice softening once she pulled away, “I was hoping we won’t be having so many lonely nights anymore.”

Taylor’s hand, while sandy, was affectionate as she rubbed his bare thigh; his tropical-printed shorts sat rather high, especially when he sat down. “It won’t be lonely when we have a screaming baby keeping us up.”

He laughed at that, and she grinned back at him, more so as his hand brushed over the swell of her stomach. Carefully, he pressed down nearer her abdomen, and the baby prodded back; strangely, the sensation gave her a surge of fondness for Harry, making her want to climb on top of him and give herself to him, so he might have the chance to feel the same sort of indescribable connection she felt with the child growing inside her whenever it asserted its existence.

A few months away from home later in the year, with some gaps in between for Harry to come visit. It wasn’t the most preferable – Harry would be leaving her with a three-month-old baby – but his team had been adamant, and he had clearly wanted to tour again. Taylor didn’t blame him – she had intended on releasing a new album this year and tour the next, only to have scrapped that idea once she had fallen pregnant. She hadn’t wanted to take it from him too, especially not when he had fought to limit his line up to smaller shows on a shorter schedule, so that he could still perform his upcoming record without missing quite so much time with his new family.

They would manage, she knew. If anything, it was what would happen after that she was more nervous about.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Taylor said, her hand still moving over his thigh, “would you mind helping set up a nursery? I can’t do it all on my own.”

“I’d love to,” Harry smiled genuinely, without pausing even a second to consider it. “Have you got things picked out?”

“Sort of. I have an idea of what I’d like it to look like, at least.” She had started a Pinterest board for inspiration long ago, but perhaps he needn’t know that. “I was thinking of converting the guest room closest to my room, so we can be right there if the baby needs anything, you know?”

Harry nodded, though there was something else playing in his expression. Since they typically swayed away from more serious talk, she wasn’t really surprised.

“Do you think… you want to stay in Nashville permanently?” he finally asked.

“Well… it’s something I’ve thought about,” Taylor couldn’t lie. Even before all this, she had wondered where she might settle down for good one day. “I love Nashville. But… you want to go back to London?”

“Not London, exactly. A bit further out, somewhere quieter.”

“More like where you grew up?”

“Yeah.” Glancing down, he fiddled momentarily with the zoom on his camera in his lap, before meeting her eyes again. “But I know Nashville is where you should be right now. ‘S where you feel safest, and I wouldn’t want to take that away from you.”

“Are you happy with that, though?”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Harry replied, without a trace of irony. It made her start to smile, and when she leaned in to kiss him, she thought he might actually mean it.

They went for another dip in the water, before returning to their towels on the sand, drying off in the pleasant afternoon sun. Taylor briefly drifted off into a short, unintended nap, only awoken when she felt an unexpected spray of sand sprinkle over her feet. Propping herself up on her elbows, she found Harry playing on his own, scooping soft sand into what she supposed was meant to be a castle, though it looked more like a plain mound.

Sensing her movement, he glanced over his shoulder from where he sat at the end of his towel, next to hers, and grinned at her. The sun glinted off his hair, catching chestnut streaks in amongst the brown, and she wanted to take a photo of _him_ , if only he didn’t lay back beside her to give her another kiss. Yes, that felt much nicer than a photograph.

“You need wet sand for that,” Taylor told him, as if he didn’t already know. They glanced over at his sand mound, Harry brushing his hand against his shorts as he appraised his work.

“How do you know it’s not _supposed_ to look like that?” he challenged, which she couldn’t really argue. Art was art.

“Did you wake up just to insult my sand castle?” he added, only jesting, and she tapped him on the chest with a light fist.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Help me up, will you?”

It wasn’t necessary – not yet, anyway – but Taylor gladly accepted Harry’s hands to help haul her up to a sitting position. His appraisal turned to her, and he wore a small smile that he struggled to suppress; suddenly, she wondered if while she was asleep she had gotten a terrible sunburn, or there was big ugly bug in her hair, or a bird had shat on her, or something equally embarrassing that would cause him to look so amused.

With an interrogative raise of an eyebrow, Taylor got him to break into a grin, and shrug a little helplessly.

“Your hair,” he explained, nodding his head slightly towards hers. “It’s very, very curly.”

In instant self-consciousness, she reached up to touch said hair. Stiff with sea salt, it had dried in its natural fashion – she could only imagine how wild it looked, bobbing either side of her head in an untamed tangle.

“Even your fringe is curly,” Harry noted, brushing one side of her bangs out of her eyes fondly. Before she could ask whether he thought that was a good thing – even when she left her hair curly, she almost always straightened out her bangs into neat order – he was smiling, “It’s fucking adorable,” and she couldn’t help smiling back.

After giving him a kiss, she playfully asked, “It doesn’t remind you of a demented poodle?”

Laughing, he looked over her again. “Well, now that you mention it…”

Their lips pressed back together, giggly, as Harry slipped his hand into her hair at the nape of her neck and Taylor wrapped her arms over his shoulders.

Would she pass on her curly blonde locks to their child? With Harry’s own thick curls, she thought it likely that their offspring would have waves of some degree. What else would they inherit? It was fun to speculate, every now and then – it was only a few months now until they would start to find out, and still, neither of them could quite believe it.

“Are you thirsty, love?” Harry murmured, breaking briefly from her lips, after a little while. At first, she didn’t take his meaning literally, and replied, “ _Very_ ,” before kissing him more deeply, shifting closer to press her chest against his, rather surprised when moments later her pulled away from her. “I’ll go up to the house and grab us something. Don’t want you getting dehydrated out here.”

Harry kissed her once more before hopping up and heading up the beach, leaving Taylor on the towel, staring in confusion out at the gently lapping water ahead of her. And here she’d been thinking, nipples poking visibly against her bikini top, that she had been about to have to try to convince Harry against having sex on the beach.

Either he was planning on leaving her wanting more for something else he had in mind, or men were just strange.

By the time Harry returned with two glasses of cold lemonade, Taylor had settled down, though not before she had had a private moment to finally admire that her boobs actually _did_ look good when she wore something a bit small. He seemed relaxed too, as he plopped down across from her, smiling as he handed her a drink. There was… something else, though. She couldn’t quite pick it, but she thought he seemed vaguely giddy.

Taking a relieving sip – she was rather thirsty, since he mentioned it – she eyed him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, too quickly for her to believe. The grin that was threanening to take over his face did nothing to aid him, either.

“ _What?_ ” she repeated, laughing.

“What makes you think there’s something?” he asked her, aiming for nonchalance and knowing there was no way he was going to get away with it.

“You look like a little kid with a secret you’re busting to tell,” she described, rather accurately, making the both of them giggle.

“Okay, give me your hand.” Setting his glass down in the sand, she did he same, before offering him her right hand, intrigued. “Close your eyes.”

Without protest, Taylor closed her eyes, trusting him. Harry fumbled for something he’d slipped in his pocket up at the house, heart racing. He nearly made Taylor’s heart stop when he began to slide the ring on her fourth finger.

As soon as she realised what was happening, her eyes sprung open, her jaw dropping as she saw the white gold ring he was putting on her finger. It wasn’t extravagant, but those were definitely diamonds set into the band. It looked expensive, oh god, he’d bought her expensive diamonds, what was he _doing?_

Suddenly, she began shaking her head, which wasn’t _quite_ what he had been hoping for.

“Harry, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he spoke quietly, gently, but she still shook her head. In her shock, she didn’t realise it was on her _right_ hand; he wasn’t seriously proposing to her right now.

“Taylor,” he tried again, but she cut him off.

“Just because we’re– we’re having a baby, doesn’t meant that you should feel obliged to–”

“Obliged?” he repeated, frowning slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“You feeling like you _have_ to be with me.”

“I don’t feel like that. Is that… is that what you really think?”

The thought had never left her. No matter what he said, Taylor thought she would never know if he seriously wanted to be with her, or only felt like it was his duty. But now… now she had a ring on her finger, and she wasn’t sure _what_ she believed.

“Taylor, I know things haven’t been… _easy_ , between us, but…” He swallowed visibly, his gaze fixed intently on her face. “I brought you here because I wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

A damn impressive way to show her, too.

Taylor closed her eyes, composing herself. Why was she making excuses, she was always making excuses, why did she keep doing that when she knew what her heart wanted?

“I can’t take the ring, it’s too much.”

“Well, actually, you have to,” Harry said, his tone shifting back to their usual sort of banter so that she had to open her eyes back to him, “unless you want to make me look like a fool.”

Holding up his own right hand, Taylor finally noticed the matching white gold ring on his fourth finger. She was so used to seeing him adorning rings on multiple fingers that she hadn’t taken much heed to it, but now, yes, she could see that it was undoubtedly the pair to the one he’d put on hers, a bit simpler, but definitely a match.

She didn’t know what to say, only stared, mouth slightly ajar, as she tried to make sense of it all.

“I want to be with you,” he told her openly, as she tried to get a grip on her speechlessness, “I promise.”

Promise. Ring. Promise ring. Yours. Mine. Forever.

There were a thousand thoughts whirring in her mind; she zeroed in on the most important one, blaring in the forefront for once, instead of staying tucked in the safe place that couldn’t hurt her.

Her voice was soft, revealing vulnerability as she looked deep into his eyes emanating truth. “I love you.”

Warmth embraced her heart as she watched excitement fight fondness for dominance in Harry’s eyes, and Taylor giggled helplessly, “Harry, I _love_ you, I can’t believe this.”

His hand was still holding hers; he squeezed it affectionately, looking now like he was about to burst from pure joy. With his other, he cupped her face and kissed her fervently, leaving her breathless when he whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Their kisses now were far more amorous, as they realised that, despite their doubts, what they hadn’t been saying all this time was just the same. Longer than the last six months – it had stayed with them ever since they had first parted all those years ago, lingering patiently in their hearts, always waiting, always hoping.

When Taylor eventually pulled back, her cheeks tickled pink and her smile heart-stopping, she gazed down at her hand, admiring the sparkle of the ring that fit her perfectly. “It’s beautiful, Harry. I love it, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You already have,” Harry assured her, unable to wipe the smile from his face either. “Do you really like it?”

“It’s perfect,” she answered, without a doubt, and he raised her hand to his lips to press a charming kiss to her knuckles. “Harry, I… I’m so sorry I’ve been so difficult with you lately.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

“I do. I’ve been taking all this out on you and that’s not what I want.”

It was an apology that was long overdue; Taylor just hadn’t known what to say. That was no excuse, she knew, and she was tired of feeling frustrated with herself for never truly opening up to him.

“I want _you_ ,” she finally emphasised. “I want to be your… I want to be yours.”

“I’ve been yours for a long time,” Harry told her, leaning in to give her another kiss. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

Taylor laughed, “You’ve brought me to our own island! You got me a beautiful ring, and you’re so thoughtful, and interesting, and funny, and charming, and I _love_ you.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him tight, sighing happily as his arms closed around her, never wanting to let go.

“I love you, Tay,” he murmured, though when he pressed his lips to her shoulder, he pulled an unpleasant face. “You taste like sunscreen.”

As she laughed in his arms, Harry reached for his glass of lemonade to cleanse the taste, though really it was when Taylor pulled back enough to kiss him again that he felt best.

Pressing their foreheads together, she fondled the hair at the nape of his neck, their vision out of focus as they looked at each other so closely.

“Whenever I can’t be with you, or you can’t be with me, we’ll have something keeping us together,” he said softly, as he felt the cool press of metal on his skin as her right hand brushed against his neck. He had meant it as more than that, though: he wanted to show her he was serious, that he never intended to leave her, that for him it always was, always had been and always will be, her.

“Are you happy you’re having our baby?” he asked in a tentative whisper, needing to know. As his hands slid down to rest either side of her growing stomach, Taylor’s eyes closed, and she smiled at the truth.

“Yes.”

Immediately, he beamed broadly, dimples popping. “Me too.”

“Shame it’s none of your business.” She saw a moment’s confusion play on his face when she pulled back, only to be superseded by a guilty grin. “I can take a joke,” she smiled, merely teasing him about the song that had started a fight. She knew he hadn’t meant to upset her by it; she wasn’t going to hold it against him.

This, being honest with each other out in the open of their own private landscape, was like a fresh start.

Later, once they extracted themselves from their play-fight-turned-make-out-session on the sand, they cooked a barbecue dinner and watched the sun set over the island, casting the sky in a wild swathe of oranges and reds. It dimmed to soft yellows, before it faded through a wash of blues as night fell upon them.

They had found a couple board games in one of the cupboards inside – Harry made the mistake of challenging Taylor to a game of Scrabble, to which she thrashed him at, as usual. He was closer the second time, but he was no match for her strategic placing of a ‘Z’ on a triple word score square.

He suggested a game of cards instead, which made her pout teasingly, “Are you a sore loser?”

“I will be if I have to watch you throw down another word like ‘maximize’ again,” he laughed. He wasn’t a bad Scrabble player, but Taylor just always seemed to get a good rack of tiles.

They played a round of Go Fish before Harry decided to up the stakes with a Blackjack game. “Best out of five. Loser has to run down the beach naked.”

Taylor’s eyes widened at the proposition. “I’m not running down the beach naked.”

“Best you win then,” Harry replied, a cheeky glint in his eyes.

Incidentally, she did, though she wasn’t entirely convinced that Harry hadn’t bombed his last hand on purpose to save her the embarrassment. No matter the setting, Taylor was _not_ a run-around-naked kind of person. Harry, however, seemed to have no qualms about getting his kit off.

It was a lot cooler out since the sun had gone down. They lit the path down to the beach by the flashlight on her phone; she had barely touched it since they had arrived, save for letting her parents know they had arrived safely and to occasionally check the time. She had picked a towel up on the way, too, to wrap around her shoulders while she watched him carry out his dare.

Harry stripped down with the ease of someone in the privacy of their own bedroom. The moonlight glowed on his skin, making his tattoos stand out as dark shadows. Taylor didn’t get enough of a chance to admire the clean lines of his body – he was soon taking a deep breath and running down the sand, leaving Taylor to laugh as she watched the moonlight reflect on the pale cheeks of his ass as he legged it down to the water.

He didn’t stop there. Her jaw dropped as he splashed into the water and took a dive, completely immersing himself. She had half been expecting it, but it was rather a sight to see.

Flicking his head back as he came up for air, water spraying from his hair, Harry emitted an exhilarated cry, Taylor grinning as she headed down the beach to catch up.

That was _her_ mistake.

“Come join me, Tay,” Harry called, as soon as he thought she was close enough to be heard clearly. “It’s refreshing!”

“I already took off my suit,” she reminded him, having changed into dry clothes once they had retreated back to the house earlier. She didn’t want to get her dress wet, nor did she want to change back; it was cool enough without showing the amount of skin she had been through the warm day.

“You don’t need one,” he assured her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I told you, I’m not skinny dipping.”

“Oh, I think you are.”

“I am not.”

Taylor could see the cheekiness in his grin, though, and wisely turned around to make a break for it. He had anticipated it, and he was springing up out of the water and sprinting after her before she had the chance to get a decent head start.

Catching her too easily, Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his dripping wet naked body. Taylor squealed; having dropped the towel when trying to flee, the water seeped through the cotton of her dress, sticking to her flesh as he held her captive against his chest.

“You’re coming with me,” Harry spoke lowly in her ear, and, embarrassingly, she bit back a groan. He was wet and using his bedroom tone and she could very much feel him pressing against her ass – could she really be blamed for the sudden spike of lust she felt held tightly in his arms?

“I’m not getting naked,” she squealed, though even she didn’t believe it.

“You’re so getting naked,” Harry laughed, as she tried to squirm her way free.

“What if someone sees?”

“There’s _nobody_ here.”

“What if someone… flies a drone, or something?”

“Nobody’s flying any drones, love, no one knows we’re here.” He kissed her cheek, without a sense of pressure; he would never force her, she knew. “We might not ever get a chance to have total privacy again.”

“I’ve never done something like this before,” Taylor said quietly, an admission that was hardly surprising. Being in the public eye since she was a teenager, she had been particular about keeping her image clean, for those who looked up to her as a role model.

“Well, I won’t lie, you’ll probably freeze your arse off, but it’s very freeing,” Harry told her honestly, laughing. There were goose bumps prickling his skin and he was stealing some of her body heat.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she smiled as he immediately took the chance to give her a kiss on the lips. “Will you keep me warm?”

“Always.”

So she let him pull her dress up over her head, her heart pounding as she folded it carefully while Harry’s hands roamed her body, trying to ease her with the familiar comfort of his touch. Still with her back to him, Taylor set her dress down on the sand, tilting her head back with a secret smile when she straightened up and he removed her bra.

“What?” Harry asked, smiling himself as he dropped her bra on top of her dress.

“I was just wondering how to tell our baby that daddy’s a bad influence,” she teased, moaning softly as he moved back in closer, his hands cupping her breasts. Behind her, he had begun to smirk.

“I don’t think Peanut has to know.”

“No one has to know.”

The air felt cold against her bare skin; Taylor couldn’t quite believe she was seriously walking hand in hand to the shore, wearing nothing at all. Harry was _definitely_ a bad influence – over the years, he had swayed her into doing many things she wouldn’t ordinarily, the cheeky shit – but it was one of the qualities that attracted her to him. He excited her, in more ways than one.

After asking how cold the water was and making a not-so-subtle reference to the state of his privates, tightened up closer to his body for warmth, which earner her a resounding smack on the ass, Taylor was anticipating it to be a bit unpleasant. Harry was willing to get back in, though, so it couldn’t be that bad.

As soon as she dipped her ankles into the water’s edge, she discovered that it was. The water had cooled significantly since the sun had set, all trace of heat having apparently disappeared with it. “It’s _freezing!_ ” she cried, jumping back, refusing to dip her entire naked body into such a low temperature.

She was no match for Harry’s determination. Taylor was shrieking as Harry quickly swept her up off her feet, claiming, “You’ve just got to get it over with.” No matter how much she kicked, how loud she screamed, he wouldn’t give in. As soon as he had walked in deep enough, he deposited her ruthlessly into the water, merely laughing as she flailed about.

“I’m going to _kill_ you!” Taylor screamed, frantically trying to get herself balanced. She pushed back her bangs to find him grinning at her like the damn Cheshire Cat, and she slapped at his arms without real malice. “It’s not _funny! – Oww,_ I just stepped on a rock!”

“Well, you _hope_ it was a rock,” Harry countered, which make her shriek again, quickly swimming backwards. She had a strong dislike for stepping on ocean dwellers in the daylight – now, who knew what was lurking underneath them without their knowledge.

“ _Hey_. Hey, darling, come back,” he tried to coax her as she swam further away, her reply of “Don’t _darling_ me!” making him laugh. “I thought you said you liked it.”

“Not when I’m trying to be mad at you,” she conditioned, and he caught her smile, a beacon in the soft light.

Kicking off the sand floor, Harry swam over to her; she had stopped, waiting for him to come embrace her, to apologise with a lasting kiss. Taylor knew him well, after all; he did exactly that, their bodies gravitating towards each other underwater. Their mouths were salty from sea water, and she felt breathless when he finally pulled away, his lips trailing down her neck, as far down her collarbone as he could get before he reached the water’s surface.

“You’re shivering, Tay,” Harry commented, his voice no more than a whisper.

“I wonder whose fault that is,” Taylor replied sarcastically, smiling as he held her closer, sharing what warmth he had.

“We can get out, if you like?” he offered, a little too late; she shook her head.

“We’re already all wet; it seems a waste to get out so soon. And it’s so beautiful out here now.”

Away from civilisation, they had a clear, uninterrupted sky above them, sparkling with an array of stars invisible in cities. With the island’s quietness punctuated by nightfall, it was perfectly peaceful; they could sit out there, just watching the gentle lap of the tide, the slight breeze that rustled the trees, for hours on end.

It felt like magic, Taylor thought, as she gazed over the moonlit ocean over Harry’s shoulder. With the rings on their fingers, the baby inside of her, and his arms holding her safe, anything seemed possible.

Gently, Taylor kissed his neck, flicking her tongue out to lick salt off his skin. He tilted his head, and she sucked down, just enough to leave a light mark. He was hers – she wasn’t going to let him forget that.

Without words, they decided best to move to increase their body temperature. They swam about, without heading too far out, their abandoned belongings left on the sand their marker for finding their way back to the house later. They didn’t stray too far from each other either, hands gliding over each other every now and then, a constant need for contact.

“You don’t think there are sharks out here, right?” Taylor checked, when his fingers trailing up the back of her calf took her by surprise. It was possible, but rather unlikely.

“Nah. Sharks sleep at night.”

That piece of reassurance wasn’t quite what she was expecting; she looked at him oddly. “I don’t think sharks have the same sleeping patterns as people.”

“They have to sleep sometime,” Harry shrugged, a reasonable point. “They don’t come in this close to shore, anyway. They’d be wiggling along half out the water.”

She had to laugh at his impression, hands stuck out either side of his torso like fins, shimmying along like a demented fish. He opened his mouth wide, baring his teeth, and made snapping gestures at her. Only once did he actually bite her – on her shoulder, and much kinder than any real shark would.

“I think we’re more likely to see some dolphins,” Harry said, dropping the shark act. Now _that_ was a much more appealing prospect.

Taylor gasped, “I hope so!” Looking out to sea, the water was flat – but now with the potential of a dolphin leaping majestically out into the air at any given moment.

“They sle–”

“They sleep at night too, yeah, sure, whatever you say,” she cut in, teasing. Suddenly, she felt something pinch her toe, and through her squealing and flailing managed to realise Harry, grinning stupidly, was the culprit. She flicked a wave of water at him that showered over his head, and hence, a water fight ensued.

They splashed each other liberally and without mercy. Both naturally competitive, neither wanted to be the first to give in, even with salt water stinging their eyes and getting in their mouths thanks to their laughter.

It would’ve last longer, had Harry not stepped on a sizeable rock he couldn’t see in the dark. Pleading mercy, he contorted himself to check he hadn’t done any real damage, lifting his leg awkwardly out of the water to inspect the sole of his right foot.

Gliding over in natural concern, Taylor rested her hand on his shoulder, peering over to see for herself. “You okay?”

“Think so. ‘M not dripping with blood, at least.” He bent in a little more for a closer look. “Stings a bit.”

“I’d rather not kiss your pruney foot better,” she teased, and he let go of his leg, chuckling.

“You can’t be any less pruney than me.”

“I am a bit wrinkly,” she agreed, checking out the pads of her fingers, affected by how long they had spent in the water.

“Mmm. My nipples feel like they’re gonna fall off.”

Taylor laughed loudly in surprise, as Harry rubbed the buds, hardened from the cold. “You’re telling me.”

“Oh, shit, we need yours,” he realised, gaze shifting to her chest with a slight frown, though he couldn’t see underwater. It made her laugh harder.

“And we need you not to drop anything off,” she smiled, reaching down to cup one of his balls, making him inhale sharply. “Wanna go warm up?”

“Was thinking we could stay out here tonight,” Harry told her, mind wandering as her hand moved along the length of his cock teasingly. “’S that okay?”

“Okay. If you get us some more towels, maybe? Make it comfy?”

“Course, darling.”

After giving her a kiss, Harry braved getting up out of the ocean, skin immediately blooming in goose bumps. It felt far colder out now, and he hurried up the beach to the house in search of another towel. His clothes would’ve been a smarter option, but he doubted they would stay on long.

Plucking up the towel he had hung out to dry earlier, he wrapped it around his shoulders, quickly rubbing over arms and legs to dry off the droplets clinging to his skin. They would need something more substantial if they were going to be spending the night outside – damn, he wished he had packed a sleeping bag after all. He couldn’t just rip the doona off the bed, for that wouldn’t make for well-mannered guests.

He checked a closet in the hall and found a stack of spare linens, which seemed a little more appropriate to use. After all, he assumed most guests came during the warmer months, where extra blankets weren’t necessary, anyway. Unless, of course, they had in mind the same as he did, which in that case, it couldn’t be all that wrong.

While Harry was gone, Taylor took her time in getting out of the water. She was freezing, as she walked up the beach, but she was more engrossed in the marvel that she was literally sauntering stark naked, something she didn’t do in her own household, let alone out in the open in the middle of the night. It _was_ freeing; as she wandered up, her pale skin of her long limbs glowing in the moonlight, she looked like a heavenly vision, one that might vanish in a blink of an eye.

There were moments that felt strangely surreal to her. The heightened senses of her pregnancy, as she sat down halfway up the beach, towel spread under her, she felt the cold caress of the gentle breeze on her bare breasts, like the ghost of a hand touching her. Taylor felt, for a moment, as if she were looking at herself from outside of her body, seeing the beauty of her raw flesh and the strength it took to grow a whole new person inside.

It was something she didn’t know how to explain; as Harry finally returned, she didn’t think he would understand.

“You must be frozen, Tay.” Harry pulled the towel from his shoulders and laid it out beside hers, overlapping along the edge. Sitting down close to her, he immediately offered her the blanket he had found, a light throw rug he thought they could easily wash the sand out of. “You okay?”

Leaning back on her hands, Taylor tilted her head up to the sky, smiling. “Today has been a perfect day.”

With a silent sigh, as soft smile grew on Harry’s own lips. “I thought so too.”

Together, they leaned in naturally, shifting to lay down while they kissed. They wrapped themselves up in the blanket, creating their open air sanctuary for the night – not the most comfortable they’d had, what with the uneven sand floor underneath them, but neither wanted it any other way.

Taking care, Harry climbed on top of her, managing his weight so as not to crush her and her precious cargo. Taylor opened her legs for him, but he didn’t take it further, not yet.

They kissed for a long time, revelling in the pure joy of kissing the one you absolutely adored. Her fingers wandered along his back, tangling up in the wet strands of his hair when he couldn’t contain himself any longer; he had to kiss her all over.

Taylor gasped when his lips, travelling down from her neck, reached her breast, releasing the breath in a dreamy sigh as he slowly swirled his tongue over her nipple. It was erotic enough, without her being extra sensitive, and she arched her back a little in further invitation.

Ignoring the very inappropriate thought about not wanting to share, Harry smiled to himself, taking his time while he could. He cupped her other breast, so round and full, and found himself groaning as well as she grabbed a handful of his ass in return.

“You look so beautiful in the moonlight,” Taylor said softly, smiling so fondly at him as he gazed back at her, the light falling upon him wonderfully.

“Thank you.” Harry tilted his head, smiling with dimples. He trailed a fingertip up the curve of her breast, slow and teasing. “You look breathtaking. There’s no one else in the world like you.”

Bringing her hand to his face, Taylor gently brushed his cheek, her heart reaching for his. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’m all yours.”

Inching back further up, Harry dipped his head, giving her an adoring kiss, and in joining their bodies in the most complete of ways, he made her his own.

They made love under the stars, slow and arduous, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. In soft moans and tender touches, they told each other more than they had in years. Finally, with the firm mound of their baby nestled between them, things felt clear: they were in love. They had always been in love.

All they had to do was be honest. There was still more they needed to figure out, by far, but they didn’t doubt each other’s feelings now. They loved each other for exactly who they were.

With the starry sky glittering above, it was impossibly romantic. Neither of them had shared anything so sweet – nor so out in the open, though that only seemed to add to the magic.

They murmured “I love you” to each other again and again, giggling unguardedly. Harry moved languidly deep inside her, taking care of her, as the intensity built up between them. Soon, it was too much for them, and a starburst of passion flooded their bodies in an absolute rush. Neither wanted to let go, never, ever, oh gosh, they could never feel like this with anyone else, even if they wanted to.

Even as their ecstasy dimmed, there remained a certain special glow, emanating in every place they touched. Harry rolled off her and immediately Taylor moved with him, turning on her side towards him to give him another kiss, the thought of even a moment without touching him unbearable. He held her and kissed her until her head rested comfortably on his chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart lulling her already relaxed limbs even more.

The last thing Taylor heard that night was the soft sound of Harry’s voice promising, “I’m going to keep you safe, Tay,” and she fell asleep with a contented little smile on her face.

 

*** * * * ***

 

The early sunrise stirred Taylor from her slumber hours later. Sleepily, she lifted her head, glancing around the empty beach, slowly beginning to grow light again in the new day.

Harry was still asleep, and she didn’t disturb him. A part of her wanted just to rest her head back on his chest, where her salty, matted hair could tickle his skin again, and go back to sleep, but the sunrise…

It started slow, but soon the sky was overcome with a burst of yellows and golds as the sun peered further up over the horizon. Taylor watched on privately, with the sensation that the sun was not only lighting the sky, but lighting something inside of her, as well.

Glancing down at Harry, who still had his arm around her waist and looked so young and gentle in his sleeping state, Taylor saw hope. For the future, for the baby, for _them_.

Very softly, she leaned down to press her lips to his. Harry was half asleep as he returned the kiss, and not entirely convinced that as Taylor climbed atop him and sat up, the blanket falling off her back and baring her naked body as she coaxed him up, the glowing gold halo that surrounded her as she rocked her hips wonderfully, that he wasn’t still dreaming.

She smiled down at him so truthfully, with so much affection, and he realised that he wasn’t dreaming: _she_ was the dream, and she was as real and bright as the star that shone behind her.


	4. Chapter Four

“It’s gorgeous!”

“Isn’t it? And he’s got one just like it!”

“That’s so romantic.”

“The entire trip was so romantic.”

Days after their return from Pumpkin Island, Taylor was still riding on that high. The week she had shared with Harry had been perfect, exactly the time away from her life here that she needed. In the sanctuary of the private island, they had found enjoyment in each other’s company and the sprawling landscape – particularly the beach, which they had taken full advantage of. They had been hiking, swimming, paddle boarding, sunbathing – and taken a ridiculous amount of photographs, of their surroundings and of each other. They had stayed up late talking under the stars night after night, the open air bringing out their honesty. By the time they had to pack up their bags, neither wanted to hop back in the helicopter, though both were certainly feeling a whole lot better about returning to their reality, together.

Naturally, she had to debrief everything with her best friend – Taylor had gone to Abigail’s under the intention of continuing wedding planning, though their morning had consisted almost entirely of Taylor describing every aspect of the week away. At least they had the stacks of bridal magazines they had been collecting open in front of them, sticky notes at the ready.

Now, they were bent over the ring on Taylor’s right hand, marvelling over the god-knows-how-many carat white gold adorned with a row of sparkling diamonds. They’d done exactly the same when Abigail had gotten engaged – though they’d toasted with rather a lot of wine, which wasn’t an option this time.

“I just can’t believe he did all that for me,” Taylor said, still sounding a bit stunned. “And it didn’t feel like he was just doing it to impress me, y’know? He knows he could’ve opened up to me here, but he wanted to do something he genuinely thought I needed. And god, did I need that.”

She rubbed her opposite hand soothingly over her bump, and Abigail smiled as her gaze followed.

“I feel like things are finally working out for us.”

“You’re _actually_ glowing,” Abigail commented, the healthy shine of Taylor’s skin brightening further as they both laughed. “This is the happiest I’ve seen you in months.”

“It’s the happiest I’ve felt.” Taylor smiled truly. Ever since Harry had coerced her out of her house, she felt more like her usual self. Her usual self in love, which was one of her favourites.

“We’ve come so far. When we met, he was this hot eighteen-year-old, and now he’s–”

“A hot twenty-three-year-old,” Abigail finished for her, making them laugh again.

“He’s like a good wine – gets better with age,” Taylor said thoughtfully. “He’s really grown up these last few years. But he’s still got the same young sense of excitement that attracted me to him in the first place.”

“I thought your initial attraction to him was more to do with his face,” Abigail called her out, and she smiled guiltily.

“That too.” Smoothing both hands over her stomach, Taylor clasped them together at the top, glancing fondly at her ring. “I gave him a few more of my firsts.”

“We really should’ve made popcorn for this story.”

“Y’know, we really should’ve,” Taylor agreed, grinning. Her smile turned shyer, cheeks a little pinker, as she admitted, “We, umm… _shared things_ , on the beach.” Her best friend, whom she trusted wholeheartedly, gave her a look of perfect surprise, which greatened as she added to the revelation, “After we… kind of maybe went skinny dipping at night.”

“Taylor!”

“I know!”

Both girls giggling, Taylor cupped her face to hide her blush, peering between slender fingers. Abigail was one of the few people she knew wasn’t going to judge her – or spill her secrets, for that matter.

“I never would’ve done it if we hadn’t been completely alone,” Taylor defended, unnecessarily. “But it was night and the sky was just _covered_ in stars… It was so beautiful. I never thought I’d do something like that – it was like something out of a movie.”

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the cool night air on her bare skin, Harry’s tender touch and the look of love in his eyes imprinted vividly in her memory. It brought fresh tingles rippling through her body, which she fought not to show.

“I felt safe with him,” Taylor said, a bit quieter. “I _feel_ safe with him. It seems crazy – when we were first together, I was so anxious about what I was to him and where we were going, and now… I think he’s actually serious. I think he might _actually_ want to be with me.”

Maybe she was just swayed by the remaining elation of their trip, but Taylor was sure that Harry wasn’t about to flake out on her, not again.

“ _You and me forever_ ,” Harry had whispered in the moonlight, her heart clinging dearly to the words, and many others just like it.

She knew he couldn’t always stay – his album was about to drop in less than four weeks, he’d be doing promo for that and his first film, as well as touring later in the year – but for now, Harry had come home to Nashville with her, fitting in as if he wished it permanent. _She_ wished it would be.

“I always had a feeling there was something more between you two,” Abigail said, her turn to do the surprising. Taylor quickly glanced up at her, and Abigail smiled warmly. “Whenever you talk about him, you have this _look_. It’s something in your eyes, like… Well, it ended up reminding me of how I feel thinking about Matt.”

_That_ was unexpected. Taylor looked at her best friend, searching for a clue that perhaps she had said it merely out of sentimentality, but she came up empty.

“Have I _always_ looked like that?”

“Not always. You looked like you wanted more from him.”

“And how about now?”

“Now… it looks like you’ve found it.”

Gaze falling back to her protruding stomach, a smile twitched at the corner of Taylor’s lips. She hadn’t known her feelings were obvious – heck, in the years after she had met Harry, drifting in and out of his life, _she_ hadn’t even known how she felt. But sometimes it was easier for close friends to figure it out first, and Abigail had known her since they were fifteen. Of course she had been able to see something in her that she hadn’t been able to admit herself.

“I’m not naïve enough to believe that everything is going to magically work out immediately,” Taylor made it clear, in part reminding herself of that fact. There was much they needed still to figure out, not to mention that she knew, despite her absence, there were people out there talking about her, speculating and spreading venom. There was nothing she could do for the latter, but as for everything else… it would work itself out in its own time. She had faith in that.

“But I love him.” Taylor’s smile broke out fully as she felt an answering kick from the baby inside her. It had nice timing – the last coincidence had been after sharing intimacy, with Harry still catching his breath atop her. Relaxing herself, she had felt the now familiar stirrings within her start up again, and the both of them had laughed over her observation, “I think you woke up the baby.” They hoped it wouldn’t feel disposed to be making regular inconvenient interruptions once born.

Reaching forward, Taylor picked up the magazine closest. For months, they had been planning Abigail’s wedding to her long-time boyfriend Matt – Taylor was maid of honour, and a proficient planner. Together, they had been collecting bridal magazines, going through and adding colour coded sticky notes to pages of particular interest, from dresses to decorations to cake designs. Each issue was bookmarked liberally.

In her present state, Taylor felt like a terrible maid of honour. She couldn’t very well try on any dresses, nor would she go anywhere to help decide on things in person, not since she could no longer hide her pregnancy. Abigail understood, never tried to make her feel guilty about it – Taylor did that all on her own.

After the baby was born, though, she fully intended on making up for it.

“This is still one of my favourites,” Taylor expressed, tapping the wedding dress displayed on the open page. It was a taffeta affair, strapless and very princess-esque. She had marked it with a pink sticky note as soon as she had first turned to it.

Abigail leaned in, admiring the dress once again; she loved it too. “Do you think it would really suit me?”

“It would look incredible on you,” Taylor replied confidently. “I think an up-do would suit you, too.”

“To control my hair, you mean.”

The girls smiled knowingly at each other. Abigail’s curls were much fiercer, made all the more dramatic with their fiery red hue. She definitely wanted a good stylist to work their magic on her for her special day.

“You know…” Abigail went on, a hint of hope entering her smile, “maybe it’s _your_ wedding we’re going to be planning next.”

Taylor opened her mouth to protest, though she only closed it again, trying – and failing – to suppress her own growing smile. The rosy blush that flourished on her cheeks was answer enough.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

Two days later, Taylor gave Harry a gift of her own.

Gentlemanly, Harry let her through the doctor’s office door first, his hand resting on the small of her back. Her doctor greeted them warmly, only the smallest hint of surprise that Taylor had arrived with someone other than her mother showing on her face.

Harry had been buzzing with excitement ever since she had asked him to accompany her to her next appointment. A father-to-be coming along was certainly no big deal, but it was the first time Taylor had invited him to one of her sessions, and he knew how important that was. He wasn’t going to take it lightly.

“You’re looking great, Taylor,” the doctor complimented with a warm smile, as she appraised her patient’s healthy glow. “How have you been feeling?”

“Like a water balloon, slowly filling up until I explode,” Taylor replied cheerfully, a response that was a new one for the doctor.

“Something a bit less metaphoric?” she always seemed to have to ask.

“I feel… very pregnant.” Taylor smiled, and she rested a hand on Harry’s chest, leaning into him. “This is my– my partner, Harry,” she introduced, feeling her own little tentative spurt of excitement. “This is Dr Stanton.”

“’S great to meet you,” Harry greeted the doctor with a friendly smile, shaking her hand politely. “I’ve been wanting to thank you for making sure Taylor’s doing well.”

Beside him, Taylor blushed, regretting that she hadn’t asked him along earlier. She knew that he had always wanted to be here to support her; perhaps she shouldn’t have let her own concerns about being seen stop her from letting him in.

Stanton ushered them to sit, genuinely pleased to see the both of them. As she began asking some preliminary questions, checking up on Taylor’s condition since her last visit, Harry kept a reassuring hold on Taylor’s hand, listening quietly and intently. His presence, while it had unnerved her on the walk from the car into the confidentiality of the doctor’s office, was all at once a comfort, his hand, warm and gentle, keeping her stable as they discussed her body and what was going on inside it.

In a bid for subtlety, Taylor had dressed casually in a plain t-shirt and leggings, seeing no need in drawing unnecessary attention to herself – and damn glad that Harry hadn’t worn any of his more extravagant pieces either. He was conspicuous enough, tall, tattooed and handsome, without wearing a Hawaiian shirt that commanded stares.

Opting for her glasses hadn’t been entirely necessary, but she felt less likely to be immediately recognised with them on. Harry had been a little concerned, but he hadn’t brought it up with her. If they made her feel more comfortable going out, then that was okay; he wouldn’t make a fuss.

After making some notes in a slanted script, Stanton had Taylor hop up onto the examination table. While she got settled, Harry pulled up a chair, intrigued as they set up for an ultrasound.

He felt an unexpected sense of protectiveness as Taylor rolled up her shirt and revealed the smooth curve of her stomach. The sight was normally only shared with him, and he knew it was silly – a doctor _had_ to see her, would eventually have to see a whole lot more of her – but he liked it better when she was for his eyes only.

He felt pride, as well. That was _his_ baby growing inside the woman he loved. Regardless of it being unplanned, nothing could take away from the beauty of that.

Holding hands again as the doctor smeared a clear gel across Taylor’s stomach, Harry smiled as Taylor crinkled her nose at the sensation. “Cold?” he guessed, and she nodded, smiling back at him, sweeter as he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles affectionately.

“No peeking, okay?” Taylor reminded him. “I really want it to be a surprise for the both of us.”

“Of course,” Harry promised, giving _her_ hand a reassuring squeeze. While he was incredibly curious about the sex of their child, he wouldn’t betray her by finding out early.

In all honesty, she didn’t believe he would be able to keep that kind of secret for another two months. If _he_ found out, then she wouldn’t have a choice.

This time, when Stanton pressed the transducer to her stomach and the connected monitor appeared with the live scan, Taylor watched Harry instead of the screen. She saw the very moment his eyes flashed with awe at seeing the black and white form of their baby, and her heart melted as she saw the glistening shine that began to mist his eyes.

The baby, while having grown significantly, was still small, curled up like a jelly bean. It was positioned in a transverse lie, the round curve of the head resting against the side of the uterus. Conveniently, it was preserving its modesty, and Taylor smiled in thanks, having to resist the urge to stroke her stomach fondly.

“When does it turn?” Harry asked curiously, gesturing the rotation south with his finger pointed at the screen. “How close to when it’s born?”

“It should turn to have its head down at 30-32 weeks,” Stanton happily answered, her analysis of the monitor more professional than affectionate. “But it’s normal for babies to rotate freely before then.”

Taylor snorted briefly, and when Harry’s gaze darted to her, she tapped the beginning rise of her bump. “I thought I felt its head more up here the other day.”

“It can’t go feet first, can it?” Harry frowned slightly, clearly imagining the baby positioned upright now.

“It’s not preferable, no. If it’s facing that way, we can try to turn it, though. It’s nothing to worry about,” Stanton added, noticing the flicker of concern on Taylor’s face at the mention of something not going exactly as it should.

Taylor was an overthinker. Inevitably, the further along she got, the more she contemplated birth, and everything that would come after it. Childbirth was no easy feat, by far; there were a multitude of things that could go wrong. But it was 2017 – there was little chance of anything detrimental happening to _her_ , but the baby…

The baby had a steady heartbeat, Stanton continued to determine. By all accounts, it was healthy, as was Taylor. There was no indication that anything would go wrong, but sometimes Taylor’s damn overthinking mind wouldn’t shut up, and she couldn’t help but worry for what might be.

She wondered if Harry ever thought about the same possibilities, though she hesitated to ask. There was no need to worry him, if he wasn’t already.

“How much bigger is it going to get?” Harry asked, his eyes glued to the image of their baby, its teeny tiny fist curled up in quiet defiance.

“It should gain around five pounds over the next twelve weeks. All babies are different, though – it could be more or less than that.”

“Please tell me the chances of it being much more are low.” Taylor was uncomfortable enough with the change in her body so far, she wasn’t looking forward to physical restrictions gaining more weight would entail.

Stanton smiled at her sympathetically. “We’ll have to wait and see, but from your progress so far, I think you’re going to be fine. You’re doing really well, Taylor.”

In one of her more cynical moods, she might’ve interpreted it as condescension, but the compliment offered Taylor some sense of comfort. Stanton had been an open ear when Taylor needed it; she knew how difficult she was finding it all, and how important having support was.

Taylor had never told Harry that she had spoken to a counsellor, only a few sessions since falling pregnant. It had been her mom’s suggestion, then her doctor’s – Taylor had, albeit a tad reluctantly, taken the hint, for the sake of her own health. Taking to someone confidentially, who had a subjective point of view, had helped her to deal with her conflicting feelings. Why she had never mentioned it to Harry, she couldn’t say – perhaps she needed another session to figure out why she felt admitting to it would be taken as a sign of weakness; she so wished for Harry to always see her as the strong woman he believed she was.

Harry continued to ask questions, apparently having stored them up over the last seven months. His serious interest was kind of impressive, considering the amount of doubt Taylor had been harbouring. She knew he cared deeply for her. In her heart, she knew.

Once they finished up, returning to the chairs they had first occupied, Stanton got them to discuss a birth plan, in preparation. Taylor had already decided that she wanted it naturally; she wanted to do it on her own. Of course, she needed Harry there with her, as well as her mom. If all went according to schedule, they would be in the private hospital on June 18th, welcoming their new baby into the world.

“I’d like a few minutes alone with Taylor, if you wouldn’t mind,” Stanton said, which made Taylor’s insides leap, while Harry nodded easily.

“Course. I’ll wait just outside, yeah?” Harry offered friendly smiles before rising, squeezing Taylor’s shoulder momentarily in encouragement. He shut the door behind him and lingered in the corridor, seeing nothing amiss in the request for further privacy.

Taylor, though, was vaguely unsettled; she crossed her ankles under her chair and clasped her hands in her lap, avoiding fidgeting.

“How are you doing, Taylor?” Stanton asked, as she leaned against the desk nonchalantly. She looked only a few years older than Taylor, which, along with her kind, unjudging demeanour, had helped Taylor to put her trust in her.

Quickly realising that the doctor wasn’t about to drop a bomb on her, Taylor sighed a little, relaxing in her chair. “I’m doing better. I feel… well, without sounding too cheesy, I feel more at peace with myself, and everything else.”

Stanton nodded her understanding. “You brought your partner today. What’s changed?”

“We talked. A lot.” _Amongst other things._ “It helped us figure out where we’re at and what we want. And… I don’t want him to miss out on all this. I know he wants to be here.”

“I’m glad to see you’re working things out,” Stanton smiled at her genuinely. “You seem healthy and happier, which is exactly where you should be right now.”

Smiling herself, Taylor tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was wondering – it’s not too late to sign up for those antenatal classes you were talking about, is it?”

She had been encouraged into attending antenatal classes, to help guide her through the birthing process and taking care of her newborn, though she had been hesitant of letting another person – a stranger, at that – in on her secret. Still… she wanted to do right by her child.

“Of course not. I’ll arrange some private classes for you.”

When they departed, Harry walked her back to her car with his hand on the small of her back, opening up the passenger side door for her and making sure she got in okay; he was driving, having insisted upon it being safer. As long as he kept his eyes on the road, she agreed.

He didn’t turn the key as soon as he climbed into the other side, instead rubbing her knee gently, catching her attention. “You okay? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

With her head turned to him, she rested it back against the headrest, looking at him with a small smile. Of course he had noticed her change in disposition brought on by the appointment; she hadn’t meant to worry him. “I’m okay. Just… nervous about all this.”

Squeezing her knee fondly, Harry smiled back at her reassuringly. “D’you want to go get some lunch? Your pick.”

“Cheeseburgers. With extra fries,” Taylor decided, far too easily, which made him laugh.

“’S a wonder why Doctor Stanton kept saying you’re healthy,” he teased. Giving her thigh a pat, he added, softer, “Thanks for letting me come, Tay.”

Taylor half shrugged, as if were no big deal. “Thanks for coming.”

Harry only wished there was more he could do. He’d tried to get a better understanding of what she was going through, but truthfully, he would never really know what it was like to be in her position. But he could be there for her, try to take her mind off the harder parts – with extra fries, this time – and let her know that she wasn’t alone in this.

Maybe that was the one gift she really needed.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

The benefit of leaving the task of setting up a nursery until late in pregnancy was that Taylor barely had to lift a finger.

Realising that they needed an extra pair of hands for the practical work, what with Taylor ruled out of the more physical aspects, they had recruited the help of two willing friends. Well, one, really – Abigail was hanging around with Taylor, while Matt helped Harry transform the guest room they’d decided on converting.

Everything needed clearing out, first and foremost. Earlier, Taylor had taken away all of the décor, shifting them into a box in another of the spare rooms to be later re-homed, so the guys could deal with the furniture. There wasn’t a lot, thankfully, but it wasn’t an easy job to dismantle a double bed and get the separate pieces, as well as a heavy wooden dresser, downstairs.

The mattress was smartly stored underneath one of the other guest beds, while the planks of the disassembled bed were carefully carried downstairs to the garage, where they were wrapped in tarp to protect from damage. Nothing was broken in the process, the guys attentive in taking direction from the onlooking women, though they had a near miss with the dresser.

From the first floor landing, Taylor and Abigail kept eyes on their partners, who were taking careful concentration in manoeuvring the dresser down the stairs. With measured steps and strong grasps, all was going well, until a certain furry friend decided that it had immediate business upstairs _right then._

“Meredith!” Taylor scolded, as the cat began climbing the stairs. Of course, she was hardly going to stop at the call of her name, the independent animal that she was; Taylor had to hurry after her, stooping to scoop up the Scottish fold before she could dart between the guys’ legs and make them lose their balance.

In the midst of it, Harry, going down backwards, nearly lost his footing in surprise, but he didn’t let the dresser slip from his hands.

“That was awfully swift,” he commented, as they paused to stabilise themselves and watch Meredith squirm in annoyance in Taylor’s arms.

“Swift by name, swift by nature,” Taylor replied unironically, cuddling her cat against her chest. She chose to ignore what he really meant: having just reached her third trimester, she was getting on the large side of things, and she wasn’t the quickest or the most bendy. But what was she supposed to have done, let the cat throw him off balance and have him break his neck falling down the stairs?

The dresser, as well as the two small nightstands, made it to the garage unscathed. No paint was chipped, either, and all that was left for them was to carry the new furniture upstairs to be assembled and arranged, which the guys worked on while the girls sorted through the decorations so far acquired.

Naturally, they had decided on a pastel aesthetic for the nursery. Not knowing the gender of the baby was a minor hindrance; as Harry pointed out, it really didn’t matter if they covered the whole thing head to toe in pink and had a son.

“Maybe we should go with blue either way,” Taylor had mused, perusing Pinterest for more inspiration. “Blue is meant to be calming, which is what you want for a baby.”

“Almost every picture you’ve got in the folder is pink,” Harry had acknowledged, with a nod to the laptop screen as he sat beside her. It was true: the majority of the pins in her nursery board were of little girls’ rooms, but she couldn’t help it, they were all so cute!

“I’m like 90% sure it’s a girl,” Taylor stated, though upon his raised brow, had lowered, “Okay, maybe 75%. I just have a feeling about it!”

Not one to want to argue with a pregnant woman’s feelings, Harry had accepted this prediction and helped her find some basics they could order, bookmarking the more specialised items for later.

Taylor and Abigail spread out what had arrived so far atop the bed, her laptop open to Pinterest just beside them. Tiny bodysuits, singlets, and leggings were amongst the clothes, while they had started collecting some toys, too. They had found a chest to store them in, which Taylor planned on painting at some point. She had framed a watercolour painting she had done herself, as well, of a pretty set of flowers, as a more sentimental gift to the child. Painting was a relaxing pastime in her quietened life; one day, she would be able to tell her little one that she had made it specially for them, before they were even born – same as the beanies and booties she had crocheted, rather well.

While Taylor and Abigail poured over the bits and pieces they had so far, contemplating what else could be added, they could hear the guys putting together the crib in the next room – or rather, they could hear them _trying_ to put it together: there was rather a bit of swearing coming through the open door.

“We didn’t even get it from fucking IKEA,” they overheard Harry grumble in frustration, which had the girls giggling. The instruction leaflet had been limited, squeezing six languages onto a double-sided brochure, a nice bit of formatting that apparently wasn’t all that helpful.

An exclaimed “Shit!” could be heard when Harry got his finger wedged between two planks of wood, and this time Taylor rolled her eyes.

“Baby can hear all these bad words, y’know!” she called out teasingly, and could clearly hear the smile in Harry’s voice as he gave a sing-song answer of, “Fuck off!”

Smiling at Abigail beside her, Taylor sighed, “He’s so cute when he’s flustered.”

Harry certainly looked cute, too. They had watched the guys for a little while when they had been dismantling the bed, and Taylor had quietly admired him. With his hair freshly washed, it had gone fluffy, curling at the nape of his neck. He looked so young, in his soft cotton tee, faded from wear, and relaxed pair of shorts. The biceps that strained against the sleeves of his t-shirt as he manoeuvred the bed frame, though, were that of a man. _Her_ man. It gave her a warm feeling inside.

When they went to check on the guys’ work, Taylor smiled immediately at the beginning transformation of the nursery. With a white wooden crib and matching change table and bookshelf set up on the opposite wall, she could already see her visions coming to fruition.

“D’you like it?” Harry asked hopefully, catching a glimpse of her in the doorway from where he stood by the crib in the corner. “We can move them around, if you’d rather.”

“I love it.” Taylor was already picturing how they were going to fill in the gaps.

“We’re just thinking about how to set up the canopy,” Harry told her, pointing up at the ceiling. “You definitely want the bed here?”

Glancing around, Taylor considered it. One of her favourite decorations was the white lace canopy they had bought to hang above the end of the crib, creating a gentle little cover above the baby. It was going to have to be fixed to the ceiling, not so easily moved.

“We can do it later. You guys want some lunch?” she offered, and both boys perked up, nodding assent.

Lunch was a bit of a wait, but was worth it. Getting Abigail to cut a tomato for her, Taylor took charge of making some little cheese and tomato scrolls. She had bought some cookbooks for kids, and had begun testing out recipes in advance – and if the guys devouring the share plate of pastries was anything to go by, they were a winner.

Their family was going to be well fed, that’s for sure.

A stray fleck of pastry stuck to the corner of Harry’s upper lip had Taylor distracted as they chatted over their lunch. Her motherly mind was urging her to lean over and wipe it off with her thumb, while her flirty side longed to lick it off with the tip of her tongue – neither seemed quite appropriate while they had company.

She managed to sneak it off when Harry thoughtfully cleared up all of their plates and she met him at the sink, resting a hand on his shoulder and kissing him chastely. Harry smiled at her when she broke away, none the wiser.

Abigail and Matt hung around for a while longer, as they moved all of the baby things into the nursery. There was an empty space in one corner that Taylor wasn’t quite happy with; she couldn’t decide what should go there, whether they should move anything they had so far or if there was something else they could find. Harry shrugged it off, fooling her into thinking they could fill it later on.

The last thing he and Matt constructed was a surprise. They sent the girls downstairs with a distraction: a reminder that Taylor had painted a few designs for place holders for the wedding reception. Eagerly, Taylor had taken Abigail down to show her, hoping that she would love at least one of them. Crafts were one thing that she had more than enough time and enthusiasm to do in her endless days at home.

Sneaking the box they had managed to covertly bring upstairs earlier out of one of the guest rooms, they worked efficiently together to build the last bit of furniture. It had been easy to keep it a secret: Harry had accepted their main furniture delivery and helped the crew move all the boxes into the garage, which Taylor had had no reason to enter since; she hadn’t even followed them that far in when they were moving things today. He could’ve been keeping anything in there, for all she knew.

It had arrived a couple days after their main order, having come from a different store. With a stroke of luck, the delivery had been in the morning while Taylor was in the shower, and he had been able to sneak the box in amongst the others without her noticing.

It had never occurred to her that he would order anything for them behind her back. So when the guys eventually came down to join them, she didn’t suspect a thing.

“This one,” Abigail decided, picking up one of the cards with finality. She passed it over to Matt. “What do you think, babe?”

Matt nodded as he looked it over, and Taylor smiled to herself; that one had been her favourite, too. Set on a silver card, she had glued a bit of white paper on top, where she had written a name in calligraphy in black fine-liner pen. She had painted a thin floral border around the edges of the paper in silver paint; it had taken some practice to get it as delicate as she had been aiming for, and was pretty proud of the result.

With great gratitude, Abigail thanked her for coming up with it, and for promising to make the rest. “Anything you want, I’ll make it for you,” Taylor smiled, the girls hugging warmly.

They headed off shortly after, having to get ready for a dinner they were going to later. Ever the good host, Taylor thanked them for coming with a small package of sugar cookies she had baked the day before.

After seeing them off, Taylor smiled and leaned in as Harry put his arm around her. He kissed her forehead, and stroked his hand over her bump fondly. “There’s something I want to show you,” he told her gently, and she followed him upstairs without a second thought.

He led her through the open door of the nursery, and watched the very moment her eyes lit up in surprise when she saw the rocking chair that now filled the space in the corner.

“Harry!” she gasped in delight. “Where did you _find_ this?!”

A rocking chair had featured on her Pinterest board, but she had been unsuccessful in trying to track one down that matched the rest of the furniture they had chosen. Unable to find a white one in stock, she had been considering buying one of the brown wooden ones and painting it herself. The white vintage rocking chair in front of her – already occupied by a curious cat – was perfect.

“Just got lucky,” Harry shrugged, grinning at her.

“I love you!” Taylor threw her arms around him; her hugs were becoming more awkward the bigger she got. “It’s the perfect spot to read to our baby. And to feed them. I love it, baby, thank you so much.”

“I know how much you wanted one, love.” Harry smiled as he rubbed her back affectionately. “You were supposed to be the first one to test it out, but Meredith seems to have gotten to it first.”

Pulling away, Taylor put her hand on her hip as she looked over at her cat, curled up contentedly on the new chair. “It’s going to be impossible to keep them out of here.”

“I don’t suppose they’ll be jumping in the cot, will they?” he asked, as she went over to scoop Meredith up, settling her on her lap when she sat down on the chair.

“I don’t think so. I just hope they keep their claws to themselves.” Taylor began gently rocking the chair, looking thrilled to have her wish fulfilled. “I was thinking, we’ll have to get those little gates for the stairs too, when the baby starts crawling.”

“You mean you don’t want Peanut tumbling down the stairs like I nearly did?” Harry smiled jokingly, giving Meredith a forgiving scratch behind the ears.

“Ha ha.” Glancing around, Taylor considered their work, still thinking about how else they could decorate it. “I’d like to get a personalised thing, like a letter wall hanging, over there, I think,” she said, waving a hand toward the opposite wall by the wardrobe. “Like those floral ones I showed you?”

Harry nodded easily; he didn’t mind at all letting her take control of the decorating. “We’ll have to know what letter to get first.”

“Oh, wow, I never thought of that,” she replied dryly, though she smiled as his eyes returned to her.

He plopped himself down on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands comfortably. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your name list?”

“What makes you think I have a list?”

“You have a list for everything else.”

He had a fair point there. Making lists of things they needed to do and what they needed helped to organise her mind; he had seen her make several recently.

“ _Well_ …” Taylor smiled, a bit shyer, as she continued to stroke Meredith, who was purring away in her lap in a moment of kindness. “If it’s a girl… I really like the name Alice.”

“ _In wonderlaaaand_ ,” Harry sang back, which made her laugh.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Oh? Well, it’s a pretty name.” The cheekiness in his smile gave her a hint to what was coming next. “I quite like Arabella.”

“The name or the song?” Taylor countered, quirking her eyebrow challengingly.

“The horizon tries but it’s just not as kind on the eye as Arabella,” he said, with a nonchalant shrug and a gesture at her stomach.

“That’s very kind of you, Harry,” she told him, very dryly.

It only took him a moment to come up with another. “How about Georgia?”

“Oh my, my, my,” she spoke flatly.

“Cecelia?”

“I don’t really like Cecelia.”

“You’re breaking my heart.” She rolled her eyes, and he grinned wider. “Mary?”

“That’s one of mine, that’s not funny.”

“Says the one who suggested Alice.”

“Alice is a perfectly nice name!”

“Alright, alright. What about Rhiannon?”

“Of course you would want to name your daughter after a Fleetwood Mac song.”

“ _Rhiaaaanon_ ,” Harry sang, and okay, she _did_ like that one.

“I’m not hearing any boys names here.”

“I thought you were convinced it was a girl.”

“Well, we should be prepared either way.”

Harry thought about it for a moment, then clicked his fingers decisively. “Got it. This one’s a girl, right? And we name her Jackie–”

“I don’t really–”

“And then we have a son, and name him Wilson–”

“Oh, god.”

“And we raise them on rhythm and blues!”

If she had something to throw at him, she would’ve. She could’ve thrown Meredith, of course, but that wouldn’t have ended well for any of them, and really, she found his playful suggestions endearing.

“You’re very funny, Harry,” she said, smiling at him.

“Thank you, I’ll be here all night,” he teasingly replied, pretending to bow whilst sitting down. The moment passed, though, and he suddenly adopted an air of seriousness she wasn’t expecting. “You know… um… if you want to, we can give it your last name.”

Taylor started in her chair, disturbing Meredith, who dug her claws sharply in her thigh. “Are you crazy?! Of course I want it to have your name!”

“Okay, well, I just wanted to put it out there.” Harry shrugged, and she wondered how long the idea had been bothering him. Surely he had to know… but maybe not.

“I want it to have your name,” Taylor assured him definitely, looking at him directly. Meredith released her claws when she realised there was no threat, though she remained vigilant. “Not my name, not a hyphenated name, _your_ name.”

_I want it, too_ , she said only with her eyes.

“We’ll have to really think about it, though – I mean, there are definitely names that wouldn’t be fair to put before Styles,” she added reasonably, something she had already been considering. “I refuse to be one of those parents who gives their kids ridiculous names.”

That perked Harry back up, a knowing smile returning to his face. “You’re thinking of Liam.”

“Bear is a _nickname_ , not a given name!” Taylor insisted, not for the first time. Harry had been taking tips from Liam, having become a father himself just over a month ago, however Taylor hoped that he wouldn’t pick up the inclination to give their own child an unusual name.

“I see you’re being very kind in not saying that to his face,” Harry teased.

“ _I’m_ not the one he has to worry about! What about all the mean jokes he’s gonna get all his life about whether or not he can _Bear Payne_? How did that not occur to _either_ of them?”

She liked Liam, she really did, but she couldn’t fathom what had gone through his and Cheryl’s minds when they had decided to name their child.

At least her own parents had been practical in naming her. No way was she going to give her own child – already with a target painted on its back purely because of its parentage – an avoidable reason to be ridiculed.

“I don’t think anyone would want to bully any of Liam’s kids. Definitely not Louis’,” Harry mused, the image of Louis mouthing off at a delinquent’s parents easy to picture.

“How are they doing, anyway? Are they liking being dads?”

“Oh, yeah. Liam’s really getting into it,” he nodded. “We’re planning all the playdates we’re gonna have.”

“You guys or the kids?” Taylor quipped, which made him laugh.

“Both,” he grinned, and she could only imagine the sorts of things that would go on with the three of them overseeing a playdate. “We’re trying to set Niall up, so he can join in too.”

“Oh, leave poor Niall out of it. He’ll find someone when the moment’s right.”

Harry hummed assent; they weren’t serious about it, anyway. It had always been assumed that as soon as they stepped away from the band, they would be off having kids – no one had known how true that was going to actually turn out to be, nor how young they would be at the time.

“He’s gonna be the cool Uncle Niall.”

“The lot of you are going to be a handful,” Taylor could already predict. “I can feel myself aging prematurely already.”

“Lucky you’ve got a sexy young boyfriend to help keep you feeling alive.”

Taylor laughed out loud, taken by surprise. “You can’t say these things in our _baby’s_ room.”

“How do you think we ended up having a baby in the first place?” Harry reminded her, grinning at her wonderfully. Softer, he added, “’M gonna take care of you, Tay,” and she believed him.

Rocking gently in her new chair, Taylor smiled back at him warmly. “Just don’t try to give our little bub a stupid name.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Soon, Harry had to go; work was calling. Pre-release promo, some more once his album finally came out – he’d be gone for a little while, but promised to call every day, and something in his eyes had led her to trust him. He wanted to stay with her, she knew, but she wouldn’t let him simply stay at home with her when it was such an exciting time for him.

“Call me if anything happens,” Harry had made her vow, his hands resting on her bump intimately, “I’ll be on the next flight back.”

Taylor had smiled and stroked his cheek, smooth from his morning’s shave. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. This bun’s not ready to come out of the oven.”

She had made him laugh, and they had kissed, long and meaningful, goodbye.

He had left with some apprehension, though. While Taylor seemed to be doing well – aside from her growing discomfort in late pregnancy – Harry was concerned that she would retreat within herself.

And in part, she did. Finding herself once again in the sole company of her two cats, Taylor returned to quiet creativity: writing, painting, reading. All too easily, she was losing herself in her thoughts once more.

Whether it was in her notebook, at her piano, or talking aloud to her unborn child as she sat in the rocking chair, Taylor let herself get her emotions out, rather than holding onto them and letting them pick away at her. Either way, it was hard for her to stay in a good mood for long when her back ached and she was being routinely prodded from the inside.

It had come as a bit of a relief when Abigail had invited her over for more wedding planning. The day after Harry’s album had dropped, she was still upset she couldn’t be there with him in London; FaceTime just wasn’t the same. She was also avoiding social media, certain that her like of Harry’s Instagram post and accompanying all-caps comment telling him she was proud of him, complete with her classic thirteen exclamation marks, hadn’t gone unnoticed, and more certain that there would be much to say about it. Maybe she should’ve kept it private, but at the same time, she didn’t really care. He had told her that he loved her afterwards and that was all that mattered to her.

Considering she hardly got out these days, Taylor had decided to put more effort into her appearance, donning a loose dress and doing her make-up. A good thing, too, since ‘wedding planning’ turned out to not be wedding planning at all.

The first hint that things weren’t all that they seemed was that Abigail was rather nicely dressed, as if she were going out somewhere. She hadn’t mentioned any occasions, though, so Taylor merely dismissed it as her friend having a good day when she courteously came to pick her up. In her state, she didn’t much like the thought of driving herself – nor did anyone else, it seemed (though she found Harry being her preferred driver rather ironic).

Everything was normal, as they went through the garage into the house. The first thing Taylor noticed was the smell of baking, wafting from the kitchen; the thought of baked goods in the imminent future definitely gave her another reason to be glad she had come over. The next thing she saw, after putting her handbag down upon heading further into the house, were the balloons, and before she could even ask what they were for, she was taken by complete surprise by the sudden appearance of a group of her closest friends.

The living room had been transformed with balloons and streamers and fresh flowers, a ‘congratulations’ banner hung up on the wall, complete with her friends she had had no idea were all presently in the country, let alone in the same state.

Taylor had never asked for a baby shower. When it had come up in a group chat, she had insisted that it was entirely unnecessary. Seeing that her friends had gone to the effort to secretly plan one regardless – because really, she _did_ want to celebrate that she was with child – had tears welling in her eyes once she recovered from the initial shock, and was enveloped in the middle of a group hug.

“You _guys!_ ” Taylor couldn’t stop smiling, a few stray tears escaping as she glanced between the friendly faces around her and the set up they had created. “I can’t believe this.”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t give you a baby shower?” Selena smiled beside her, giving her an extra squeeze.

“I love you guys so much.” Taylor thankfully accepted the tissue Abigail, having anticipated an emotional reaction, promptly offered her. “Honestly, you guys… I don’t even know what to say.”

“Have a cupcake instead,” Martha suggested, and they laughed, Taylor nodding enthusiastically before carefully dabbing under her eyes.

The table was covered with an assortment of treats, a bouquet of white roses in the centre. A mix of sweet and savoury, there were plenty of homemade nibbles for them to share: cheese and crackers, chips and dip, sandwiches, mini pizzas, marshmallows, peanut butter cups, teddy bear-shaped cookies, macarons, cupcakes with blue and pink icing. Fruity mocktails were the perfect complement to the party.

As Taylor bit into a light vanilla cupcake (a pink one, naturally), she tried to take it all in. She was still stunned, a fuzzy feeling embracing her heart as she scanned the faces of the girls around her, radiating a warmth that was almost palpable.

They took a group photo with Taylor glowing in the middle, and she nearly started crying again when she was given the gift of a photo album to put all the pictures from their day into.

“You can’t surprise an overemotional pregnant woman like this!” Taylor exclaimed, to a chorus of laughter. Of course, she appreciated it more than she could ever explain.

She was presented with more gifts once she took a seat on the sofa – she didn’t think she would be able to get up off the floor easily, not like her fit model friends who plopped down around the coffee table when the rest of the couch was occupied. Automatically, she insisted she couldn’t possibly accept them – they had done enough for her just by being here – but the girls weren’t having any of it.

Each had pitched in something for the baby; Taylor ended up with an assortment of clothes and toys, all completely adorable.

“Someone took a picture of me when I was getting those,” Gigi said, when Taylor unwrapped a small bundle of fine woollen sweaters she had gotten her. “They assumed they were for me, obviously.”

“Gi!” Taylor’s eyes widened, though it was hardly shocking. If _she_ had been pictured buying baby clothes months ago, when it wasn’t obvious, the media would’ve assumed the same thing about her. “Did Zayn see it?”

Gigi shook her head, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “No, but he saw we were trending on Twitter after I told him.”

The jokes that had been made online weren’t what Taylor really needed to hear. About the band not knowing the meaning of protected sex; Harry was going to be the butt of it once they made their announcement, which wasn’t something either of them particularly wanted to think about if they didn’t have to.

At least the speculation over Gigi and Zayn would pass. It was just something Taylor and Harry were going to have to get used to.

In amongst the fun stuff, there were some practical items, as well: a few dummies, a teething ring, baby lotion, and more packs of nappies than she could count.

“Did one of you bulk buy _all_ of these?” Taylor asked, as she peered into a large plastic bag, bulging with its contents. Surely that would’ve taken a shop assistant by surprise.

“We all got a pack,” Abigail explained, precariously balancing a slice of cheese on top of her broken cracker.

“I got three,” Martha countered, raising her hand as if they were in a classroom. “They were having a special.”

“You’ve got 1000 diapers now,” Selena informed her. “We counted.”

“ _1000?_ That’s… wow. That’s a lot of changing.”

They wouldn’t need to be stocking up on more for a while, at least. Where they would keep them all in the meantime was another matter.

A bottle of gentle shampoo had them discussing what the baby’s hair was going to look like: curly, undoubtedly. But Taylor’s golden blonde or Harry’s rich brunette?

“He had fair hair when he was little, though,” Taylor pointed out, recalling the photographs Anne had shown her when they had gone to stay with her. “If the baby gets my curls, though… it’s going to be a nightmare trying to keep it untangled all the time.”

“You’re telling me,” Abigail quipped, smiling as Taylor reached to spring one of her tight curls playfully.

While Taylor was distracted with eating a peanut butter cup, Selena went to find the page they had printed off for her beforehand. Dusting crumbs off her hands before taking it, Taylor tilted her head as she looked at the vaguely familiar picture of a child on the page she was given, her friends watching on eagerly.

“What am I looking at here?”

“We put yours and Harry’s faces into a baby generator,” Selena explained, a bit of silly fun they had been unable to resist. The kinds of results those websites often gave were… _well_.

“Oh. _Oh_.” Holding the paper closer to her face, Taylor frowned at what she now realised was her potential offspring. “How did its head end up that shape?”

There was laughter, but seriously, why had it generated such a pointy chin? Neither of them had pointy chins. The blue green eyes were pretty, in any case, with unnaturally long eyelashes that made her think she must’ve been wearing false lashes in whichever photo of her they had used.

“You don’t wanna see the first site we tried,” Martha assured her, which of course only made her want to see it more.

Considering the genes they were passing on, there was little worry about producing a child as… _odd_ as the computer generated images suggested.

Still, it was always fun to speculate – they spent a lot of the afternoon doing just that, as they munched their way through their snacks. It had been months since they had all gotten together like this; Taylor had really missed it, was unbelievably grateful that they had come together to give her a such a special memory. One thing she didn’t doubt was the support of her best friends, the ones who really _knew_ her and would stand by her through thick and thin.

In the spirit of a baby shower, Taylor was at one point encouraged into testing an old wives’ tale, since the baby’s gender was otherwise a mystery.

Taking her necklace off and carefully setting aside the small charm, Taylor obligingly slipped off her ring, the one Harry had given her, and strung it onto the chain. All eyes on her, she dangled it over her bump to see which way it would swing: back and forth, it was a girl; in a circular motion, it was a boy.

With bated breath, they watched the gleaming ring swing once in a wide circle as she lifted up the chain, before it began rocking side to side once she steadied her hand.

“You’re sure you’re not having twins?” Gigi teased at the ring’s change of mind, and Taylor cut her a look.

“I’m _pretty_ sure I’d have noticed before now,” she replied dryly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she glanced back down at the swinging jewellery she held. She gasped a little at the sudden movement the baby, a hearty kick to her insides, and immediately she rubbed her free hand soothingly over the spot to calm the child.

“I can’t wait for you guys to meet it, you know?” Taylor told them, looking back up at the few friends around her with a slight shine in her eyes that suggested she may be about to cry again.

Her baby was going to have a wonderful group of aunts to look up to, that she was certain.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Alone at her piano, Taylor ran her fingers along the surface of the keys without making a sound. There was melody in her, somewhere. It itched in the tips of her fingers.

She tapped an E, then an A. Repeated it absently, hoping to elicit a spark.

She missed Harry. He wasn’t coming back for almost another week, and she missed having him around, where she could feel his touch instead of only hearing his voice and seeing his face on a screen. Her back hurt, she was uncomfortable, and she could really do with a cuddle.

Reaching for her pen, Taylor scribbled on the bottom corner of the open page of the notebook she had resting on top of the piano. In black ink, she drew a sketchy love heart, and surrounded it with tiny stars.

“My love,” she whispered to herself. “I miss my lover.”

She hummed softly as she continued to doodle on the page, not forcing anything. Her best ideas came to her when she wasn’t trying, and she knew the poem that had come to her right before she had fallen asleep the previous night had potential. It was a damn good thing she kept a notebook on the nightstand by her bed; she wouldn’t dare not writing something she particularly liked down, for fear of forgetting it later.

If only she could get in a studio. Some of the songs she had written in recent months were begging to be worked on in a studio, she could feel it in her bones. To think, last year she had thought she would be recording a new album to release in this one – and she _had_ , a few tracks she had worked on before everything had changed. God knew when she would actually make her sixth album.

Glancing at her ring, Taylor sighed at the thought of Harry. They could make it work – him going away on tour, while she stayed at home. There was no reason they couldn’t do the same when she felt it her time to work again.

The band had felt tighter around her finger lately, her fingers swelling as an effect of pregnancy. Not very attractive, she thought, but there was a lot about having a baby that wasn’t pretty.

With reluctance, she tugged the ring off her finger, in case it got worse and began to cut off her circulation. Her hand looked naked without it, after having worn it every single day since Harry had given it to her, and the thought made her laugh through her nose.

She would have to hang it on a spare chain, to keep it with her until she could wear it properly again. No way was she not going to have it on her person and lose the sentimental tie between her and Harry.

What was he doing right now, she wondered, as she played with the ring absently. Sleeping, maybe – he had seemed tired when they had spoken yesterday. His hair had been sticking up on odd ends from him running his hands roughly through it; Taylor smiled at the memory, clear as day in her mind.

The light caught on the ring as she fiddled with it, and for the first time Taylor noticed that there was something engraved on the inside of the band. That was strange; Harry hadn’t mentioned any engraving when he had given it to her. Maybe it was just the maker’s mark?

Getting a closer look, immediately she knew it couldn’t be: the inscription was too long. She squinted at it, trying to focus on the tiny lettering.

_‘Cor meum tuum est.’_

Latin. She couldn’t read Latin.

Her phone was nearby, on top of the piano so she could easily record anything she came up with. Scrambling for it, she quickly searched up the translation. Of course Harry had written it in another language, and in such a hidden spot; it was a romantic little secret, just for the two of them to know.

_‘Cor meum tuum est,’_ she read off her screen. _‘My heart is yours.’_

For a moment, she sat stunned, her breath caught in her throat. She read it over and over, until tears began to well in her eyes and the text began to blur.

Weeks, she had worn this ring. Did Harry ever plan on telling her about the inscription, or did he mean for her to hold onto his message – his _heart_ – without her even knowing?

A part of her wanted to pounce on him, to demand why he hadn’t shown her at the start, and why had he used part of a line from one of her own damn songs, the cheesy little shit, he kept making her cry!

But mostly she wanted to hug him with all her might, and tell him that she felt exactly the same.

Did his have a similar inscription? Taylor hadn’t thought to examine the inside of her own ring, let alone try to get a look at his. But knowing Harry, she doubted that he intended on leaving it blank if hers wasn’t – so was his engraving the same, or had he come up with something different for himself?

On impulse, she hit dial on his contact, pondering whether he had taken another one of her lines or one of his own. The call rang out, though, and she sent him a simple text instead: _‘Cor meum tuum est!!!!!!!!!!!!!’_

Taylor sang to herself, as she awaited his reply. “ _Life makes love look hard_.” Quite the fitting choice, that one, now that she thought about it. When she had written ‘Ours’ as a hopeful teenager, she couldn’t have known how true it was going to ring for her when she found a man who really loved her. She really had never expected said man to quote it back to her.

God, she adored Harry.

Taylor missed the moment that he texted her back, thrilled that she had finally stumbled upon his extra little surprise, too wrapped up in the new melody that had come to her, finding new words for the love she had found.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

_Nothing lasts forever._

The first couple days when Harry came back to her, Taylor felt much better. He was riding on a high from the success he was having with the release of his record, and it certainly showed. There was a light in his eyes that sparkled whenever he looked at her.

She wished she could explain why she crushed it.

All morning, Taylor had been irritable; she weakly used that as an excuse to herself. As if Harry should’ve just ignored her, until she got a better night’s sleep. As if when she snapped at him over nothing important, he shouldn’t have tried to talk it out with her. As if _she_ hadn’t been the one to start the fight, for no apparent reason.

Sitting alone in her music room, filled with guitars and old notebooks, Taylor felt awful for it. She didn’t _want_ to yell at him, it had just… happened. Damn freaking mood swings. Why couldn’t she just be a normal happy girlfriend?

_He didn’t have to argue back_ , she told herself, knowing even as she thought it that it was such a stupid thing to think. She had provoked him – somewhat on purpose? – and she couldn’t expect him not to retaliate.

She was jealous. And tired, and annoyed, and she wanted Harry to tell her she was still a good person, even if the rest of the world didn’t think so. Even if she didn’t think so.

Harry had gone upstairs, after Taylor had walked away from him in a fit of emotion before she could say something she really didn’t mean. It wasn’t the first time she had snapped at him, nor would it be the last. He just didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

This wasn’t easy for him, either – it was just difficult in different ways. He thought she often forgot that.

Once she calmed down and collected her thoughts, Taylor knew that she had to go apologise. They were adults, and she wanted to be able to talk things out with him. She _needed_ to, for a serious relationship to work.

With the fresh engraving on Harry’s ring in mind (it had turned out his was blank – he had been waiting for her to notice the inscription on hers, before he got anything presumptuous on his. She had asked him to get the same message done, without hesitation), Taylor slowly headed upstairs, caressing her protruding stomach for support.

Harry was sitting on the end of the bed, with his head in his hands, the sight tugging hard on her heartstrings. While he heard her come in, he didn’t look up to acknowledge her, though he didn’t shy from her when she lowered herself down beside him either.

Delicately, she slipped her hand under his arm, the strength of him making her feel more grounded.

“I’m so sorry,” Taylor spoke softly, as not to disturb the quiet of the house. “I didn’t mean to pick a fight with you.”

“I know,” Harry sighed, his voice sounding thick in his throat as if he’d been crying. She couldn’t get a look at his face to tell, even when he dropped one of his hands to cover hers.

“I feel really gross right now, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you all the time. It’s not fair on you.”

He uncovered his face then, glancing at her belly with a not-quite smile. “I don’t blame you for it. You look like you’ll pop soon.”

Taylor punched him in the thigh for that, though not very hard. With under six weeks left, he did rather have a point.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Harry looked back ahead, staring off at nothing in particular. He waited a bit, before quietly admitting, “I feel like whatever I try to do for you is wrong.”

“Why would you think that?” Taylor asked him gently, surprised.

“’Cause I have no fucking idea what I’m doing,” he answered, exasperated. “I think I’m doing right by you, but then… You went off at me for no reason, Tay.”

“You were bothering me,” she told him, making a point of keeping her voice level. She wasn’t going to raise it again at him… probably.

“Well it seems like I’ve bothered you rather a lot of times since we got back together.”

That stung – more so because he was right. Almost every time they had argued these last months, Taylor had been the one to start it. _Hormones_ , she wanted to yell at him. _I’m a crazy pregnant lady, do you expect me to be reasonable 24/7?!_

“It’s nothing to do with you–”

“It’s _everything_ to do with me,” Harry firmly insisted. “I hate fighting with you, Tay–”

“Then why are you starting another one?” she demanded. This wasn’t how she had been anticipating the conversation – a good kiss and make up was more what she had had in mind.

Sighing, Harry scratched his knee absent-mindedly; he hadn’t wanted this either. “I know there’s a part of you that’s still pissed at me for getting you pregnant, and I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do to make it go away. I’m _trying_ , but you just… I don’t think you always believe me.”

It wasn’t something she was conscious of, but that piece of her _did_ exist. Her world would be perfectly normal – well, normal for her anyway – if it hadn’t been for that September night. She didn’t _hate_ him for it, but it was still upsetting that she hadn’t been able to make the decision herself, that her plan for the future had been flipped around. She still carried that with her, even without realising it.

“You can’t blame me for that,” Taylor protested equably. “This has changed my entire life.”

“And mine too.”

“It’s my body!”

“Having _my_ baby.”

Taylor pulled away from him, cradling her stomach instead. As true as it was, _she_ was the one with the intimate connection with their child. He couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to feel life growing within.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she told him defensively.

“I don’t have a chance if you shut me out,” Harry countered.

“I’m not _shutting you out_.”

“You’re trying to.”

“I am not!” Taylor flashed him a frustrated glare. “Though I might start to if you’re gonna be like that."

He didn’t doubt that either, yet he still pressed on, needing to get out what he had had the time to consider while he was up here on his own.

“You know, all this time you’ve been saying that you think I’m going to change my mind, I think _you’re_ the one who’s worried about waking up one day and realising you made a mistake,” he accused, which felt like a surprising stab. “You’re scared you’re making a mistake with me.”

“No I’m not,” Taylor replied, though without conviction. His raised brow indicated that he had picked up on it, and she tried to defend herself, “Last time, you didn’t even know if you wanted to be with me.”

“That was five years ago,” he reasoned. “I know what I want now.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“That’s _exactly_ what I’m talking about. You keep being pessimistic as if I’m about to walk out the door and never come back.”

“Maybe because that’s what my track record would suggest.”

“I don’t care about your track record–”

“You’re _in it!_ ”

“That was _years_ ago, we’re different now, older.”

“You’re twenty-three–”

“And that makes me incapable of deciding who I want to spend my life with?” Harry challenged her. “It’s always been you.”

“No it hasn’t!” Taylor cried, her emotion suddenly resurfacing. “It hasn’t been; no one _ever_ picks me. You might think you want me _now_ , but it’s not going to last. You’ll meet someone else, or just get bored of me, and that’s it. That’s how it works.”

Tears shone in her eyes and she spoke as if stating mere fact, like that the grass was green and her nail polish was pink. Harry wanted to comfort her, but he knew if he tried to touch her, she would dart away. He could recognise a live wire threatening to catch aflame.

“And maybe, _maybe_ , I’m shutting you out, but maybe I’m just trying to spare myself. I’m sorry, okay, I–” Taylor quickly wiped under her eye, struggling to hold it together. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I don’t know what’s fucking wrong–”

“Taylor–” Harry softened, concerned the more worked up she got; it couldn’t be good for her.

“I’m _sorry!_ ” Taylor repeated, pushing herself up to stand, needing to move, to get out. “I’m sorry I take everything out on you, that you’re– you’re stuck with me, that–” She swallowed hard, meeting his eyes with a painful look of insecurity, getting out the last word before retreating back to a space where she could be on her own. “I’m so sorry I’m never going to be enough for you.”

 

*** * * * ***

 

They barely spoke for the rest of the day, avoiding each other as much as possible. Taylor hid out in the music room with Olivia, where she cried and tormented herself over why she had said what she had said. Harry stayed upstairs, though he felt like he was intruding; it wasn’t truly his home after all, no matter the wardrobe space he now occupied.

Dinner felt excruciatingly long. They hardly tasted their meal, a pasta dish Harry had prepared, since Taylor seemed disinclined to make the effort. She thanked him quietly, and again when he offered to clear up their dishes. That was the height of their conversation.

Taylor retired to bed early; she could do with the rest. Sleep hadn’t come easy, though, but eventually her mind grew so sick of hearing itself that it offered her much desired relief. Harry had joined her a while later, though he kept deliberately on his side of the bed, the ghost of words unsaid lying between them.

The next morning was no better. After a breakfast alone, Taylor distracted herself with painting for a while. She swathed blues over her canvas, tapping into her emotion. Lost in her own head, she could almost pretend she had the whole house to herself again.

For a little while, she actually believed it. Having shifted to her piano while her painting dried, finding new inspiration, Taylor was so caught up in trying to work with the idea in her head that she didn’t even hear when Harry came in. A plate suddenly appearing in front of her, topped with a salad roll, made her jump, and Harry offered her a small smile as he left her with lunch. Lost track of time, she didn’t even realise it _was_ lunch time, and her heart squeezed at the thoughtful gesture.

Her mind went off on a tangent after she ate, and she ended up abandoning the song she was working on. After taking her plate out to the kitchen, she went for a wander out in the back garden, hoping the fresh air would help to refocus her head.

Her garden needed work: spring having very much sprung, flowers had blossomed all over the place, and unfortunately, so had weeds. She found she could spend a short time out gardening, until it was too hard on her back and she had to go sit down. Harry didn’t mind helping, though.

_Harry_. Sighing as she sat down on the deck steps, Taylor rubbed her lower back, wondering what to do.

It’d blow over, she was sure. Only letting it go without any more acknowledgement didn’t seem healthy, and god, she could _not_ deal with a divisive relationship, not when she was going to have a baby in a matter of weeks.

Thoughts drifting off, Taylor sat outside for a little while, finding some peace in the afternoon sun. Perhaps she would go for a swim later; it was another nice day out. She could always invite Harry to join her…

As if he knew that he was playing on her mind in that moment, Harry soon slid open the back door, surprising her with the sound. He had been watching her from inside, trying to figure out what to say to her, to work up the nerve to go out there – questioning whether it was even a good idea to interrupt her alone time. But he couldn’t stand this silence either.

Cautiously, Harry sat down beside her, and they shared shy smiles. Neither knew quite where to start.

“I like your painting,” Harry complimented, his voice gentle. The low sound filled her with a familiar warmth, relief that he was talking to her again. “’S nice.”

“Thank you,” Taylor accepted appreciatively. She had left her painting to dry on the table, without thought of him seeing it; she was glad he had.

“You’re good at painting,” he added, and she simply shrugged.

“It just relaxes me.”

They fell quiet, and Harry chewed on his bottom lip. Where had all the conversation starters he’d come up with disappeared to? God, it was so much easier to rehearse an interaction on your own.

They ended up going to speak simultaneously, both saying “I’m sorry.” It cut the tension, as they laughed a little at the coincidence.

“You go,” Taylor granted, nodding at him.

“I’m sorry, Tay,” Harry sighed, his genuineness showing in his eyes. “I’m really sorry about everything.”

“ _I’m_ sorry,” she emphasised, feeling she needed to say it much more than he did. “You’ve only been back a few days and I’m already treating you like shit.”

“You don’t treat _anyone_ like shit – you’re nice to a fault,” he countered, smiling at her softly. Still, she didn’t think she had been very nice _yesterday_.

Before she could say so, he continued, “I know when you _do_ get pissed, something’s really up. Are you okay? I know this can only be getting harder for you and I’m worried about you, Tay.”

Taylor bit her lip to prevent it from quivering; she was _not_ going to cry again. She did want to be honest, though, which meant exposing herself to the one person she hoped with all her heart wouldn’t run. “I’m scared,” she whispered, unable to hold his gaze. Gently, he tucked her hair behind her ear, a small reminder that he was there for her. “I’m scared I’m not gonna be a good mom.”

Harry nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but he caught himself in time. “I can’t think of anyone who’d make a better mum. Well, I think _my_ mum has done a pretty good job, but I’m not going to have kids with my mum so that’s… irrelevant.”

With the look she gave him, he wondered if laughing would’ve been the better option.

“You did not just say that.”

“I really didn’t mean to say that.”

“I’m just… I’m scared that I’ve already failed our baby, just by being me,” Taylor went on, as if he had kept his mouth shut. Immediately, he reached for her hand, grasping it between his two as a frown creased his brows.

“Why would you think that?”

“ _Because_. People hate me like it’s some kind of sport, and any child I have is going to have to deal with that crazy kind of scrutiny. That’s not fair on them.”

“So you’d rather not have a family at all?”

“I’d rather people would just leave me _alone_.”

Never did she ever want to sound ungrateful, but the excessive negativity she was attacked with was not an aspect of her career that she appreciated in the slightest. As much as she wanted to be able to totally ignore it, she struggled to block it out a lot of the time, and she couldn’t fathom saddling an innocent child with such an environment.

But she _did_ want a family. More than anything, she wanted this baby, and she wanted Harry.

“I can’t change what anyone says, but I’m going to do everything I can to protect you and our baby,” Harry promised her, squeezing her hand. “You know that, right?”

Taylor nodded, small but definite. “I just want to be good mom. And a good… good to you.”

Wife. She was too afraid to say wife.

“You’re going to be amazing, love. I’m already so proud of how you’ve been doing already,” Harry assured her, and her cheeks began to warm.

“It hasn’t been easy…”

“And you’re fucking killing it, darling,” he smiled at her, which made her blush deepen and her own lips curl up. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Dropping one of his hands, Harry moved it to her back, rubbing slowly. “I’m scared I’m not going to be a good dad, you know?”

“Why?” she asked, as surprised as he had been when she had admitted her fear.

“I’m abandoning you with a little baby. I feel terrible.”

“You don’t have to feel bad about that. I _want_ you to go on this tour, you’ve earned it.” Her eyes closed in momentary bliss as he rubbed the sore muscles of her lower back. “I _am_ jealous, though. I wish– If the baby was a bit older, I’d feel more comfortable coming along with you, but I don’t want you to have a shit time with a crying newborn keeping you up.”

“I feel shit leaving _you_ to look after a crying newborn on your own,” he countered. “I want to be here with you, all the time. I don’t want you to forget how I feel about you while I’m gone.”

Because that’s how it seemed: they would part for a bit, then when he came back to her, she would seem a little off, as if she had thought he wasn’t coming back at all. He couldn’t really blame her – in the years after their relationship ended the first time, they had floated in and out of each other’s lives, never making commitments, never knowing when they would see each other again. It would be more of a surprise if she had complete confidence that things would be different now.

“Why me?” Taylor asked quietly, a question she had debated more than she wanted to admit. “You could be with _anyone_ you wanted… so why is it me?”

Harry didn’t answer right away, pondering over his words to make sure he expressed himself right. “You inspire me,” he said slowly. “Even before all this happened for me, but I think even more so since I met you. You’re so intelligent, and interesting, and just… you have the biggest heart. It’s beautiful.” He smiled at her, making her blush again as he added, “And so are you.”

“So are you,” she softly said, glancing at him momentarily before looking back down. “You’ve made me feel so special these last few months, and… it scares me, how much I want to give you everything. I don’t want to have my heart broken again.”

Sliding his hand, Harry intertwined their fingers slowly, giving her a sense of stability. “You know I want to spend my life with you?”

“I know you’ve said it–”

“But you don’t believe it?”

Taylor sighed. “I think you mean it _now_ , but in a couple years…”

She didn’t want him to make promises he couldn’t keep. She couldn’t go through that again, not with a child to take care of.

“Taylor,” Harry spoke quietly yet firmly, getting her to meet his eyes again, “I’ve seen you at your best and at your worst. I want to be there for you for the rest of them, to– to celebrate all the good times and be there for you when things are shit.

“I fucking hate how people talk about you because of me and I thought– thought you’d be better off without me, but–”

“But people are always going to find something to hate me for,” she interrupted dryly.

“And why should we let anyone else’s shitty opinions get between us? I know you’re scared, I’m fucking scared too, but I know we can get through anything. We’re meant to be together,” he said with such finality that a lump formed in her throat.

“This baby’s a blessing,” Taylor whispered emotionally, and he squeezed her hand in agreement. All it took was for him to say one more “I love you” for it to be too much for her and she burst into tears.

Harry held her as she leaned against him, letting her cry herself out on his shoulder, like she had needed for… god knows how long.

_He understood_. That was all Taylor had really wanted: for Harry to understand. For him to listen and understand the way she was feeling, without discrediting her as if her feelings were wrong.

Harry wasn’t like any of the others. He never had been.

With his hand still rubbing her back and his other now in her hair, holding her head safely against his shoulder, Taylor longed to curl up in his lap like a cat, let him make everything better. Knowing that he was here, that he sincerely held no intention of letting her slip free, was enough.

When she eventually had no tears left, slowly Taylor lifted her head back up, letting Harry wipe her face as best he could with only his fingers. The relief from expelling her emotions overwhelmed her.

They remained quiet for a few moments, as Taylor sniffed and Harry looked over her carefully. “Does that feel better?” he gently asked, and she sighed in release, nodding.

“Thank you,” she murmured, as he began to smile at her, lighting her insides.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got you.”

A smile brightened her own features as she watched the softness blossoming on his face. Gosh, he was gorgeous, and so, so kind-hearted. She couldn’t possibly explain how much of her heart he held.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry respectfully asked first, and she nodded without a second thought.

His lips were soft on hers, the kiss devastating in its sincerity. Taylor rested her hand on his cheek, refusing to let go before she was thoroughly alleviated by it.

When they soon pulled away, Harry smiled at her wonderfully. “You should have a bath later, love,” he suggested, somewhat surprising her. “It’ll help relax your muscles.”

“Maybe you could join me?” she replied, her tone rising with hope, and she wrinkled her nose sweetly as he told her he’d love to and he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I was wondering, actually, if you wouldn’t mind helping me with something?” Taylor asked him, swept up in her relief.

“Anything,” he agreed immediately.

“The song I started yesterday? I need a bit of help. It’s not… not _quite_ right. I need your mind.”

“Well,” Harry smiled, flattered she should ask, “I can try.”

He helped her up, keeping an arm protectively around her as he led her back inside.

Everything was about to change – if it hadn’t already – but Taylor knew that she wasn’t going to be alone.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

As the days went on, Taylor couldn’t wait to no longer be pregnant. She felt enormous, couldn’t manage everything on her own, and while she appreciated all the help she was continuously offered, she just wanted to have the baby already.

Her mom came to visit more often, regularly checking up on her and helping out around the house where necessary. Not that there was a great deal to do – Harry had the housework covered, leaving her to put her feet up and relax.

Daily swims burned her energy and kept her from feeling quite so lazy, as well as giving her a fleeting sense of weightlessness. Thankfully the weather was plenty warm for the easy-going exercise.

Plus, Harry gave her promised massages to help relieve the aching muscles of her back, the intimacy of that time in their bedroom making her feel more connected to him. They had stopped having sex weeks ago – Taylor hadn’t been comfortable with it, since she had grown significantly – but that didn’t mean they didn’t still touch each other. If sitting topless for him for a massage ended with his hand between her thighs, well, all the better.

His efforts weren’t perfect, though – Taylor still struggled to get comfortable, mostly at night. A particularly frustrating one disturbed him, too.

“What’s wrong, love?” Harry murmured sleepily, when she rolled over again for the millionth time.

“I can’t get comfy,” she whined, as she rubbed her hands over her stomach in an effort to settle the child within. “When I lie on my side, my back hurts, but if I lie on my back, the baby won’t stop squirming.”

Harry laughed through his nose at her description, which didn’t best please her. “Squirming?”

“Yes, squirming,” she snapped in a hushed tone. He found out for himself what she meant when he rested his own hand on her bump and he felt the ripple of movement underneath, the kicks and prods of a baby that demanded its presence be known.

“Think it wants out,” he commented, and if they weren’t in darkness, he would’ve seen the unimpressed expression she fixed him with.

“It’s more than welcome to join us out here any day now,” she said, not that she exactly meant it. She was still a few weeks off her due date, and as tired as she was of the effects of pregnancy, she wanted the blessing of a healthy, full term baby.

“C’mere, love.” Nudging her with his thigh, Harry encouraged her to roll back onto her side, where he cuddled up close to her. “This any better?”

“Sorta,” Taylor mumbled. It was more having his almost naked body spooning her that was a consolation.

Harry hummed, propping himself up so he could lean down to talk closer to the baby. “Now, let mummy get some sleep, please.”

_He_ sounded like he was in need of sleep; it made Taylor smile to herself, which admittedly helped to relax her. Eventually, she managed to fall asleep, with the slow, soothing stroke of Harry’s hand over her stomach and his warm breath ghosting over the back of her neck.

It was all much the same, as time passed by. Taylor’s days were generally quiet, spent in the company of Harry, who was adorably reluctant to leave her side. She spoke to her friends online, was visited mostly by Abigail, as well as her family, but it was Harry who she spent most of her time with.

There was a chance it would drive her crazy – and she still had her moments of frustration with him, though he tried not to take her mood swings personally – but she loved it. She loved having him around.

She had never truly lived with someone she was in a relationship with, and the longer he stayed with her, the more contented she became. It felt natural, Harry being there to kiss her good morning and good night.

He cooked a lot for her, too, not wanting her up on her feet for unnecessarily long. She didn’t mind so much – she still baked regularly, _and_ he was a great cook.

Their affection had become more pronounced since they had come to an understanding with each other. On more than one occasion, they had been caught making out by either of her parents, which Taylor probably would’ve been more embarrassed by if she didn’t have bigger things to worry about. Harry, on the other hand, was still reeling from a very indecent comment he whispered in her ear as they laid on the couch together, looking up from kissing her neck to find her father had entered the room and was only a few feet away.

_They know we sleep together_ , he had tried to remind himself logically, but there was a difference between her father being distantly aware of it and actually overhearing her giggle flirtatiously at a terrible remark about the view Harry had down her tank top. God, Harry hoped he hadn’t actually _heard_ what he’d said.

Day after day, they spent many hours lying together on the couch, Taylor between his legs and leaning back against his chest, his arms encircling her. Between talking and kissing, they worked their way through various things on television. Not that Harry thought all the binge watching was exactly healthy.

“Peanut can hear us, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t you think we should be watching something with less gunshots?”

A fair point – but after making it to season six of _NCIS_ , it was a little late for that.

“Peanut’s safe in here. I really don’t think they mind,” Taylor assured him, with a friendly pat of her tummy, and when he tried to point out that she had already watched all these episodes before in the first place, she simply dismissed him. What were they supposed to do, watch kids shows as positive reinforcement for a baby that wasn’t even born yet, in case it was listening? No thank you.

“You kind of remind me of Tony, you know?” Taylor told him, one time they paused between episodes.

“Because I’m handsome, charming, and intelligent?” Harry hopefully replied, rather liking the sound of that.

Instead, she deadpanned, “Because you’re an insufferable flirt,” and she giggled when he furrowed his brow. Tilting her head, she pressed a kiss to his pouting lips. “I like it, baby. It’s all a part of your charm.”

“So I _am_ charming.” He smiled as she laughed, and he gave her another kiss. “Who would you be, then?”

She gave it a moment’s thought before answering, “I think I’d like to be Abby.”

He laughed at the thought of the sunshiny girl lying on top of him suddenly tattooed and sleeping in a coffin. “I can’t picture you as a goth.”

“I meant the _forensics_ ,” she emphasised, smiling back. “It would be fascinating to do all that sort of stuff.”

“Mmm. Pretty cool what they can do these days.”

“Or I’d like to be Kate,” Taylor added, as the thought came to her. “Minus the getting shot in the head part.”

“I’d like to see you kick some arse,” Harry realised with a small smirk, which she returned.

“I bet you would.”

She went on to make a terrible joke about handcuffs, and it was a damn good thing none of her family had come to visit _that_ day.

Perhaps the most important thing she came to truly realise as days turned to weeks was that what she had found was not just a lover but a best friend. For Harry _was_ her best friend: she trusted him and he trusted her, they could talk and play around, and she could always have a laugh with him. Ultimately, she could be herself with him, every weird aspect of herself, and he always accepted her just as she was. He always _loved_ her. Probably because he was a bit of a weirdo too.

And she loved the baby, too. Ever since she had found out she was pregnant, the baby had taken her heart – and Harry’s as well. She knew how much he adored that he was having a child of his own. While she held some regret for doubting him, she knew how important that step was to work through. Now, she felt much stronger than she had when she had first taken the test, both in herself and in their relationship.

So she kept kissing him with affection and talking about their ‘little angel’, and she meant it with all of her heart.


	5. Chapter Five

June 18th came and went and Taylor was still pregnant. Stanton had given her the all clear: nothing was amiss, only that the baby seemed more inclined to remain in its safe cocoon.

“ _Just give it one more week_ ,” Stanton had told her. If it didn’t change its mind naturally, they would step in to get things moving along.

Which wasn’t so bad, really, except for the fact that everyone was constantly buzzing around the house, critiquing her as if she was about to give birth on the floor at any minute. The wary attention did her mood no favours.

Even so, Taylor went about her usual days with a relatively cheery demeanour. There was no use in stressing; there was nothing they could do.

Well, according to Harry there was, but she was ignoring his not-quite-joking suggestion that maybe having sex would make things happen.

“That’s just something men say because they haven’t gotten laid in months,” she had adamantly retorted. “I don’t think there’s any truth to it.”

There was also the matter of her immediate family being so close at hand – they were okay with the occasional kisses in front of her parents, but they were _not_ going to get caught doing anything more compromising. Not to mention that Taylor couldn’t imaging getting intimate when she looked like she did.

So they waited, day after day, to see when they would be welcoming new life into the world.

“This is _ridiculous!_ ” Taylor exclaimed, on a sunny Thursday. Nothing baby related, this time – oh no, it was much more laid back than that. “You cheated!”

“You were in my way,” Harry replied equably, his eyes still on the screen ahead of them.

“You ran me off the road!”

Both Harry and Austin grinned at that. Her brother was staying with them, and Taylor couldn’t decide whether he wished he wasn’t, having to watch more moments of affection than was entirely necessary, or if that was cancelled out by the fun he was having with Harry. As, apparently, they seemed to get along rather well.

“It’s unsportsmanlike,” Taylor insisted, after having spectacularly lost the race in the video game the three of them were playing, thanks to Harry unceremoniously sending her car out of control with a clip to her bumper. Her car had ended up off the track and stuck up against a wall, while the guys soared their way to the finish line.

“It’s all a part of the game,” Harry said – of course the perpetrator would say something like that – and she scoffed, setting her controller down on the coffee table.

“Fuck you guys, I’m out,” Taylor declared, though she was smiling at them. With a groan, she pushed herself up to standing, Harry flashing her a protective look of concern, which she quelled with a reassuring smile. “I’m gonna see how mom and dad are doing. You two have fun kicking each other’s asses.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing all the ass kicking here,” Austin protested, which flared Harry’s competitive streak.

“We’ll see about that, eh?”

Shaking her head, Taylor left them to their game, honestly rather pleased to see them enjoying themselves together. They were closer in age than she was with Harry (she had privately wondered if Austin ever thought it weird she was dating someone younger than him, but she had never asked and he had never mentioned it), and they seemed to like hanging out together. She couldn’t have asked for anything better.

Stopping by the kitchen on the way to pour herself a glass of cold water, Taylor slipped out the back door onto the deck. Her parents were out kindly tending to the garden, taking advantage of the early summer weather to keep the yard nice and tidy. It gave them something more useful to do, in any case, instead of sitting around waiting.

“You guys doing okay?” Taylor called, as she headed down the path to the vegetable patch, where her mom was working. Andrea looked up at her at the sound of her voice and smiled, brushing dirt from her gloves.

“We’re fine. How are you, honey?”

“Had to get away from the bromance blossoming inside,” Taylor joked, with a wave back up toward the house. “They really seem to like each other, huh?”

“Your brother cares a lot about you.”

“Which is why it surprises me, considering.” A gesture to her bulging bump encompassed her meaning.

“They both love you,” her mom reminded her, standing up for a break. Taylor took a sip of her water to hide the smile that warmed her face. “You should come sit out here for a while; it’s too nice a day to be stuck inside.”

She nodded in easy agreement. “I can admire all your wonderful work,” she smiled genuinely. “It looks great out here, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” Andrea smiled back; of course she didn’t mind helping out. “You’ve got lots of kale here – I’ll start bringing some of it inside.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Quiet,” Taylor said, smoothing her free hand over her stomach. The last couple weeks, the baby had stopped moving so much – which had always worried her, ever since she had begun feeling its movements, in case something had gone horribly wrong. A reassuring kick would always come, though. They were both okay.

Finding a spot in the shade, Taylor found peace in reading a novel outdoors. Her parents continued pottering around for a while, though she was blissfully left on her own for a time once they decided to call it a day.

Eventually, Harry came out to check on her, bringing some biscuits along with him. He plopped down on the grass beside her, evidently having decided he no longer wanted to get whooped on his own PlayStation.

“Should’ve come out here earlier,” Harry realised, as he too leaned back against the thick trunk of one of the leafy trees shading the garden. It had cooled as the afternoon progressed, to a pleasant temperature to simply sit in.

“You should’ve,” Taylor agreed, reaching for his hand when she set her book aside. He smiled as she intertwined their fingers, lightly squeezing her hand back. “I’m glad you and Austin are getting to know each other, though. It’s really important to me.”

“He’s cool. Even if he did just beat me at my own game,” Harry chucked, with an amused shake of his head.

“You’d think you’d know you’re not a good driver by now.”

“I don’t know why you felt the need to start spreading that rumour.”

“Aside from the obvious, you literally got a parking ticket last week. In _my_ car.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to.”

“That’s what they all say.”

He rolled his eyes – as if video game driving reflected real life skills, anyway, and he really _hadn’t_ realised he’d overstayed the parking bay he had stopped in – and she leaned in to kiss him, smiling.

They talked for a little while, sharing the biscuits he had brought out with him that she had baked the other day. Crumbs fell down the front of her dress, and he made her laugh hysterically when he offered to help get them out, a playful hand sliding down between her breasts in a thorough hunt for the stray crumbs caught in her bra. They weren’t close to the house, but they weren’t _that_ far that they would be invisible to anyone looking through one of the back windows.

Taylor groaned when he teasingly gave her sensitive nipple a little pinch, and her hand moved to cup under her bump. Pulling away, Harry’s gaze turned a bit more serious as he looked her over.

“Sorry, I–”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Taylor smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t you start apologising for touching me – even if that _was_ totally inappropriate, what were you thinking?”

That got his own smile to return, and he safely rested his hand on her cheek instead as he gave her a kiss. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“Does it end with the both of us naked on the grass?”

“And your ti–” He cut himself off when he noticed her wince. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Taylor still smiled, discreetly sliding her hand lower down. It was probably nothing. She was probably imagining it.

“Though we really shouldn’t be talking about these things out here like this,” she continued on casually. “Save it for when we’re truly alone, babe.”

As she changed the course of the conversation, Taylor tried to divert his attention from her wellbeing to something less personal. By now, she was a tad tired of being asked if she was doing okay – she would say something if she wasn’t, surely they all knew that.

Except for the occasional pangs that had sprung up on her; she kept those to herself. In her prolonged discomfort, it was easier to pass them off as nothing serious. If they didn’t go away, well, _then_ she’d say something. There was no need to raise a false alarm.

A false alarm it was not, however, as Taylor discovered when Harry went inside to refill her glass with more water.

“Harry,” she said, as soon as he had returned near enough. There was an odd sort of ominous calmness to her tone that made him slow his steps.

“Yeah?” he warily replied.

“I think it’s happening.”

Harry blinked at her, before hurrying the remaining distance in long strides. “Are you sure?”

“Well unless I’ve suddenly lost control of my bladder, yes, I’m sure!” Her face crinkling in distress, Taylor held her arms up to him like a young child. “Eww, Harry, help me up, please?”

Immediately putting down the glass, Harry took both her hands and hauled her up to her feet, sliding a protective arm around her waist to hold her steady. “’S okay, love. D’you want me to carry you inside?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She would’ve laughed had he suggested it earlier. “I can walk, it’s just– oh, god, it feels gross, I need to change.”

The walk across the garden with amniotic fluid trickling down her legs was not one she currently had any desire to repeat. She didn’t particularly want to sit back down in it once they made it inside, either, but Harry made her sit in the first chair he saw and she was too stunned to resist. It was happening. It was really happening.

“Austin!” she yelled, her voice carrying desperately through the first floor of the enormous house. “Austin, I need my phone!”

Harry left her to grab her a change of clothes, taking the stairs two at a time. Austin, having found her phone still on the coffee table, followed the sound of her voice and whatever remark he had been about to make was swallowed when he saw the look on her face.

“Are you–”

“Yes, now gimme my phone!” Taylor replied impatiently, extending her hand out in demand. As soon as he handed it over, she was firing off pre-prepared texts.

“Is there anything I can do?” Austin asked, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he watched her.

“Call mom and dad. Tell them to come back here – or just meet us at the hospital later, I don’t know, whatever they want to do.” She waved it off distractedly, eyes still on her phone, anticipating a quick reply.

While Austin made the call, Harry came back downstairs with a new dress and a clear pair of underwear for her, whisking her off into the bathroom to change, rather than trouble with heading up to their bedroom. Taylor pulled him in with her, taking advantage of his willingness to help her in any way he could, and let him assist in undressing her. She clutched at the edge of the sink for balance when she felt another of those pains, momentarily terrified that it all might just come about then and there; it had felt entirely possible ever since the baby had turned and began to sit lower a fortnight ago. She doubted it though: it wasn’t nearly strong enough, at once both a comforting and horrifying thought.

Oh god, how was she going to do this?

“’S okay,” Harry repeated gently, once the moment passed, and he brushed a lock of her hair from her face. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Not yet,” Taylor answered wryly, offering him a small smile. “It’s just– it’s like period pain; I thought it was nothing, but– I’m okay.”

“Come sit down again, love.”

Harry guided her into the lounge, where she could sit on the more comfortable couch. Clearing space on the coffee table, he sat down directly opposite her, holding both of her hands securely in his, his gaze intently set upon her. It was nice; it gave her something solid to focus her attention on. Taylor could stare at him for hours if given the time.

“I’m nervous,” she blurted out in a quiet tone, thanks to his penetrating green eyes that could surely read her mind anyway.

“You’re going to do amazing, Tay,” Harry smiled at her truthfully. “I’m going to be right there with you; you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“I love you so much,” she whispered, smiling back as he leaned in to kiss her softly.

“I love you, too.”

She chased his lips when he pulled away, and he held her steady as they kissed again, letting go of one of her hands to rest it upon her cheek. Taylor melted with the tenderness of it, wanting nothing more than to never part from him again.

It wasn’t quite what Austin had been expecting to walk in on after hanging up the phone, however. “You two really doing that now?” he asked, interrupting their moment of soft intimacy.

Smiling as he reluctantly broke again from her lips, Harry glanced over his shoulder at her brother. “When it happens for you, you’ll know,” he replied cryptically, and Taylor’s heart sighed all over again.

There were plenty of things that Taylor had thought about regarding labour, but she hadn’t particularly considered how insane all the waiting would drive her. There wasn’t much she could do: with irregular contractions (which Harry was unnerved to learn had begun earlier than she had actually told him), hospitals would only tell her to go home and come back once they were steadily five minutes apart. But what was she expected to _do_ until then?

Reunited with her book and a fresh glass of water (the one Harry had gotten her earlier that had been abandoned outside had gained a few ants that couldn’t climb back out by the time it had been remembered), Taylor tried to relax as she had been before she realised that the pain she was occasionally feeling was more than the shifting she had experienced to date. Relaxing was difficult when she had four people hovering around her like worried satellites, waiting to gauge her reaction of each contraction.

She’d had half a mind to tell her parents to go back out, go home, go anywhere that wasn’t her lounge. But she saw the way they both looked at her: her mom, with a strong sense of protection, and her dad, with deep concern over seeing his only daughter in pain. And truthfully, she didn’t really want them to leave. She just didn’t want to be looked at so much.

_Like a cat_ , she thought, when Olivia was scooped up and given to her for comfort. _Find a warm, sheltered spot to let nature take its course in privacy_.

Olivia snuggled up against her chest as she laid on the couch on her side, and Taylor began to think that all expecting mothers needed a cat they could cuddle. The thought made her smile – and was quickly confirmed when her muscles tightened suddenly and she was able to bury her face in Olivia’s soft fur until it passed.

Harry was sat at the other end of the couch with her legs across his lap, kindly rubbing her calves and sore feet without her having asked. He spoke quiet encouragements whenever she stiffened with a contraction, though he wasn’t overbearing: he got the feeling that if he tried to fuss over her too much, she would snap and push him away, which was the last thing he wanted right now. The balance he found in letting her know he was there for her without smothering her with the fact was perfect.

So much so that at one awkward point she wanted very much for him to take her right there on the couch, in part from longing to sleep with him again and in hope that it might actually speed things up. A terrible image of the baby trying to get out while he tried to get in made her cheeks burn, and she chastised herself for thinking such a thing in front of her _parents_.

Not like it was the first time. And she knew Harry was far worse – he flashed her lustful eyes all the time, and if he thought she didn’t notice the ‘subtle’ glances at her tits, he was kidding himself.

The vast majority of the time, though, Taylor was too wrapped up in listening to her body to think about much else. She barely ate when dinner time came around for everyone else, an argument that she needed all the strength she could get ending when she proved that she wasn’t joking about feeling nauseous. Nearly throwing up did nothing for everyone else’s appetites, but she felt better with permission to simply pick at some light salad.

She ended up a crying mess a while later, when her contractions grew worse. She hated feeling helpless, not knowing whether things were going smoothly or not – it seemed to go on _forever_ – and she let Harry hold her with her head to his shoulder until her wave of emotion passed and she composed herself again. Well, as much as she could be, in the circumstances.

“I want to go to the hospital,” Taylor told him, the desperate note in her tone clutching at his heart.

“I know, darling,” Harry sighed, as he softly stroked her hair.

“I want to know what’s happening.”

“You’re doing fine, your mum said so.”

Her parents had given them space when she had teared up and turned to him for comfort; she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to wonder what they might be thinking. It was a point, though: her mom had assured her she was okay, and she obviously knew what she was talking about.

Another sharp pain made her forget all reason, though, as she balled Harry’s shirt in her fists and stifled a groan with her head against his shoulder.

“I wanna go.”

“You’ll be more comfortable here.”

“I wanna _go_.”

Harry was torn between giving her what she wanted and knowing what they would be told if they showed up at the hospital now. Being told to come back later was surely only going to upset her more.

“Can you call Dr Stanton? She’ll understand.”

“Alright, love. I can try.”

While he stepped into another room to make the call, where she couldn’t overhear and try to interrupt, he sent in her mom as a replacement, so she wouldn’t be alone.

“How you feeling, baby?” Andrea asked as she sat down beside her, brushing her hair back from her face like she had done when Taylor was little.

“Awful. This feels never-ending,” Taylor moped, slowly rubbing her stomach. “Was it like this when you had me?”

Her mom nodded, and she felt a little better. “The first is the hardest.”

“This isn’t making me want to have any more.”

They both knew that that wasn’t entirely the case: Taylor loved kids, as did Harry. The two of them only having one together sounded unlikely to everyone who knew them.

Right now, though, it wasn’t something she could think about.

After a few minutes on the phone to Stanton herself, the doctor having asked to speak with her directly, Taylor seemed to relax a bit. She didn’t try to push anyone out the door with her, at least. Instead, she laid back on the couch on her side, resigned, with Harry squeezing in behind her to give her a much-needed cuddle.

He held her through each of her contractions, murmuring little encouragements. Mostly, Harry offered her a distraction: making her laugh, as they talked together, with her back pressed up against his chest, his solid presence keeping her thoughts grounded.

They were checked in on regularly, with her family recognising the space she wanted as things dragged on. Her mom stopped by the doorway and simply watched them once, without them knowing. The tenderness with which Harry treated Taylor, stroking her hair and her cheek and her tummy, giving her his complete attention… She knew he cared deeply for Taylor. It had been difficult, at first, when Taylor had originally broken the news that she was pregnant, but Andrea had come to an understanding regarding Harry. A lesser man wouldn’t be looking at her daughter in the way that he did.

In the end, it was Harry who decided to call the car to come collect them. The strength of her contractions both disturbed and amazed him; with his hand on the lower curve of her stomach, he got a sense of it, and every tense groan she made drove a spike in his chest. He couldn’t take it, either; he needed her to be okay.

With thorough preparation, they had special security arranged for their hospital trip. The last thing Taylor wanted was a string of unwarranted photographs of her in such a vulnerable state, not to mention any pictures of their newborn child that she didn’t approve of.

Aligned with security guards at the private hospital, they were driven in a nondescript car by Taylor’s own security team, so they could hopefully transition seamlessly into a room without a fuss. _Hopefully_.

A dutiful nurse didn’t want to let her in just yet, ignoring the blue-eyed glare Taylor fixed her with under the cover of the hoodie she’d thrown on before they left. If she gave in to every fierce mother-to-be, she would’ve been dismissed a long time ago.

After a bit of demanding back and forth, though, and Taylor conveniently being struck with another contraction in the hallway, they were discreetly escorted into a private room, surrounded by security. With the door closed behind them, Taylor felt a small sense of relief, the stress she’d held since leaving the house lessening once they’d been safely admitted.

Changed into a blue hospital gown, Taylor was set on the bed (she missed the softness of her lounge already) to be assessed. A smiling midwife asked her questions and looked her over, as Harry held her hand beside her.

He instinctively hugged her to his chest as soon as the midwife confirmed she was alright and stepped back out into the corridor, Taylor releasing a small distressed sound into his shirt, her shoulders slumping as her tension over someone she had just met taking a look between her legs eased in his embrace. “What if she tells?” she whispered, and he rubbed her back consolingly.

“She won’t, love. It’s okay.”

And it was. Her contractions were regular and increasingly painful, and she was restless, but all this was perfectly expected.

With Harry, her mom and a midwife watching over her – Austin and her dad had seated themselves in the ward’s lounge, granted permission to skip the messy part – Taylor disregarded advice to stay seated. She was tired of sitting down, was itching to move around, as if it would help progress things along. Pacing slowly around the small room helped to occupy her mind for a little while, at least.

Harry was there for her to lean on whenever she had to pause to allow a contraction to pass, his arm around her waist keeping her steady. Steady was good, steady was what she needed.

The room suddenly tipped sideways, and she was damn glad he was right there for her to clutch onto.

“Taylor?” Harry asked with panic, as she swayed toward him.

“I don’t feel so good,” Taylor mumbled, and the practiced midwife, all too familiar with the look of someone about to be sick, thrust a bowl out for her before she could throw up all over Harry’s shoes.

She was guided back to the bed with looks of concern from her loved ones, deepening when her shoulders began to shake with laughter. She thought they must think she had lost her mind, as she was the only one to find it funny when she said, “You’re seriously wearing Gucci shoes to our baby’s birth?”

Harry glanced down at his – thankfully clean – designer loafers, not catching her point. “They were the first pair I found.”

Struggling to suppress the laughter she couldn’t seem to stop, Taylor carefully took a sip of the cup of water the midwife gave her, feeling much better than she had a moment ago. Even if she was in a questionable state, as she giggled, “I nearly hurled all over your Gucci shoes, oh, Harry, I lo– oh, _shit!_ ”

The cup nearly fell from her hand as another forceful contraction squeezed her insides. Oh, god, when would it _end?_

Naively she hadn’t taken note of when they had started, but it was well dark by now and the knowledge that a first labour could take as long as twelve hours did not fill her with confidence.

It only seemed to drag on excruciatingly. Taylor was tired and frustrated, lying back on the bed and trying to keep quiet as she squeezed hard on Harry’s hand. The whole ward didn’t need to be hearing any high notes from her tonight.

The midwife – bless her, for treating them like ordinary people – appeared rather surprised (and a little personally amused) whenever Taylor cursed, not that she could really be blamed. Most would be shocked to hear that she had told Harry to fuck off when he suggested she have some more ice chips to chew on while waiting for the doctor who could give her an epidural, let alone to have actually heard the words come out of her usually sweet mouth.

Harry hadn’t taken it personally, though – he could clearly tell how worked up she was, and he knew she didn’t really mean the harsher statements she let slip.

He was rather on edge himself, having to watch her so evidently in immense pain. The epidural helped, but by then, Taylor was so tired from hours of contractions that she struggled to be all that grateful for it.

Her fringe, wet with sweat, was stuck to her forehead, and she gave Harry such a look of raw vulnerability that he felt an actual grip on his heart, cold and desperate.

“I can’t do this,” Taylor whispered fearfully, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. “I can’t.”

“Taylor,” Harry sighed, shifting his chair an inch closer to the side of the bed, as close as he could get without climbing up on there with her. “Taylor, my love, it’s okay.”

She shook her head a little, and she started to cry again, and Harry squeezed her hand (much gentler than she squeezed his) and reached to cup her cheek with his other hand.

“You’re doing amazing, love. Just a bit longer, okay?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Just look at me, Tay. I’m right here, love, I’ve got you.”

Taylor tilted her head back, closing her eyes and trying just to breathe.

“You’ve got this, love. You’re the strongest woman I know, Tay, you’ve got this.”

A few tears still rolling down her face, she exhaled, and put her trust in his faith in her and in the strength of her own body.

 

*** * * * ***

 

It was peacefully quiet when Taylor slowly fluttered her eyes open. She felt a surreal sense of calmness; from lengthy hours of exertion, she had finally been granted the luxury of relaxation. For a moment, she wanted just to turn over and go back to sleep.

While everyone else had gone, Harry remained to her right, still sitting in the same chair beside the bed. His head was bowed over the bundle of white blankets in his arms; she could see the hairs that curled at the nape of his neck, and in tenderness almost reached out to touch them.

He was humming, as he delicately traced the curve of a tiny ear with his fingertip. A moment for her sleep fogged brain to clear, and she smiled in recognition of the tune. _‘Isn’t She Lovely?’_

In the early hours of Friday the 23rd of June, Taylor had finally given birth to the little girl of their dreams. The first time she had held her, screaming with the surprise of entering the real world, Taylor had felt her heart grow whole, and when she started crying, Harry did too. He kissed her with so much passion, his hand in her hair, that the feeling was still resonating with her now.

As she shifted, stretching her back, she caught his attention, and a gorgeous grin spread across Harry’s face at the sight of her. “You’re awake,” he said obviously, yet sounding so excited. “How’re you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Taylor sighed, with laughter in her tone. He looked rather tired himself, not having slept all night, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Thought so,” Harry smiled understandingly. “Both of you fell right to sleep together.”

After Taylor had been given her daughter (!!!) again to hold, encouraged to try to nurse her for the first time, the baby had dozed off with the effort of being born. Taylor had drifted off herself, warm bundle cuddled against her chest, into a deep sleep that lasted an hour and a half, leaving her now feeling revived.

“Is she still sleeping?”

“Yeah. She woke a bit before, but she’s asleep again. D’you want to hold her?”

Of course she did. With extreme care, Harry rose to hand over their baby, and sat himself on the edge of the bed, watching her face light up.

Wrapped up in a soft white blanket, the girl’s gentle sleeping face looked back up at her. “Hey sweetie,” Taylor cooed, stroking a round cheek with a tender finger. “Aren’t you just the most precious little thing? My little angel, you’re so _beautiful_.”

“She’s perfect,” Harry said softly, smiling down at them. “You were so… That was the most…” He shook his head, struggling to encapsulate everything he was feeling. “ _Amazing_ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Taylor glanced back up at him, smiling back just as wonderfully. “You think so?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he insisted, and they both chuckled. “You… you had a _baby_ , that was so…”

Warming at his inability to find words, Taylor looked down at their daughter, and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her little head. “How’s your hand?” she asked, as she glanced back at him knowingly.

“Bruised,” Harry laughed, as he flexed his left hand, which she had been clutching onto with her life, grinding his bones. There were marks from where her fingertips had dug into the back of his hand in complete desperation.

“Oh my god, _babe_ ,” Taylor gasped, not having realised she had actually caused him harm. “I’m so sorry.”

“’S nothing, love,” he shrugged – certainly nothing compared to what _she_ had experienced. Knowing that he had been able to help in some way more than made up for it.

A small mumbling sound came from the bundle in her arms, and the baby wriggled a little in her wrappings. “Shh, sweetie, it’s okay,” Taylor murmured, as she patted the baby’s back naturally. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Oh, they um, went to get something to eat, not long ago. They should be back soon; I wanted to stay with you.”

“Have you told your family yet?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s grin widened; neither could stop smiling. “Called mum when you went to sleep. She can’t wait to meet her.”

“She can’t wait to meet her either,” Taylor giggled, as the baby squirmed her arm out of her blanket and thrust it upward. “Isn’t that right, baby?” she smiled down at her daughter, who had awoken and wrapped her tiny hand around one of the fingers she held out.

In the bag of essentials they had packed weeks in advance for their hospital trip, they had decided to include Taylor’s camera, and Harry went to take a Polaroid of her, looking soft as she smiled down at their newborn daughter.

“How’d you know?” Harry asked, tilting his head after he slipped the Polaroid into his back pocket. “That she was a girl, I mean.”

“I didn’t,” Taylor said simply, shrugging one shoulder slightly. “I just… had a feeling, I guess.”

The connection she had had with the baby inside her was something she hadn’t been able to find a way to put into words. And with time, she realised, maybe she didn’t need to. It was something so naturally special to keep for herself.

In a way, it was somewhat jarring to actually meet the baby she had been carrying for the last nine months. She had felt like she had gotten to know her child over the time of her pregnancy, and now there was a whole new person in her arms for her to discover. Taylor loved her, oh, gosh, the little girl in her arms was now her whole world.

The baby kept wriggling and wrinkled her face in a whine, and Taylor glanced back at Harry, troubled. “Is she hungry, do you think?”

“Maybe?” he answered, uncertain. It seemed likely, as she continued to move her lips. She settled a bit, as Taylor gently patted her back, yet soon she let out a cry, a sound they were sure to become accustomed to hearing.

Without free hands to adjust her gown, Harry kindly helped her with it, quickly and carefully. Taylor brought her baby to her bare breast, and instantly the small mouth latched on, whines replaced by a little sucking sound.

Harry watched on with interest, as Taylor cradled their little girl’s head against her. She had a dusting of light blonde hair, soft and not that greatly noticeable, similar to both of their own newborn styles.

“What does it feel like?” he couldn’t help but ask, nodding toward their feeding child.

“Weird,” Taylor laughed honestly, smiling up at him. “She’s not _gentle_ at all.” _Not like you_ , the brief glint in her eyes suggested. “She’s a strong little one. Aren’t you, sweetie?”

As if in agreement, the baby raised a fist again, then rested it comfortably against Taylor’s chest as she contentedly suckled away.

“If you’re feeling alright, the doctor said we can go home soon,” Harry let her know. “Said she’s in perfect health – bit small, but ‘s fine.”

“I’d love to go home,” she sighed, stroking her thumb affectionately over her daughter’s head. “I feel fine, just tired. That’s probably going to be the new normal though, huh?”

Harry smiled at her in amusement touched with sympathy, which was as much of a yes as she needed.

It was a few hours more before they were discharged, no complications with either mother or daughter. After Taylor changed into a set of her own clothes, they teamed back up with their security, escorted out with their newborn privately wrapped up in blankets and carried in a capsule. They were driven home in the car they had arrived in, Taylor unable to take her eyes off the capsule secured in the seat beside her. While they had drawn a few intrigued glances, with luck on their side they managed to make it home without being photographed.

From the shut eye she had managed to catch at the hospital, along with her enthusiasm to bring her new daughter home, Taylor was surprisingly revived by the time they got home in the late morning. Scooping up the baby, she set about giving a grand tour of the house, cooing, “Welcome to your new home, baby! Isn’t it so _exciting?_ ”

She seemed to have more energy than anyone else – she told all her family to go have a lie down, claiming she was perfectly capable of taking care of the baby and herself for the moment. They would be of no help without some sleep first, in any case.

All but Harry had listened; after a very brief nap in the car on the way home, he insisted upon following her along on her house tour, while her parents and her brother retreated into guest rooms.

The nursery was the most important stop of their tour, and Harry smiled at Taylor’s enthusiasm over introducing their daughter to her new room, as if a baby, especially one only mere hours old, actually cared where it slept, as long as it was warm and comfortable and close to mother.

“Do you love it, sweetie?” Taylor smiled down at the little child in her arms, who made a convenient gurgling noise that she decided to take for a yes. “Daddy made it for you. Here, give daddy a cuddle.”

Harry happily accepted the bundle, taking a seat in the rocking chair and playing with her tiny hand that curled around his finger, waving and kissing the tiny digits. For a lingering moment, Taylor watched on with a soft smile, her heart swelling with love for the both of them. She had imagined endlessly what Harry was going to be like as a father, but nothing could possibly compare to seeing it in person for the first time.

Needlessly, Taylor fussed around with making sure everything in the nursery was as it should be – it already was, as she had already been over it practically every day for the last month or so. She hadn’t been able to help it, thanks to her pregnancy hormones making her feel more maternal by the day.

_We can buy all the girly things_ , Taylor thought, and she smiled excitedly to herself at the prospect of tiny dresses and glittery tutus.

Unwilling to leave their baby alone when she fell asleep again, they set her down in her new bassinet and brought her downstairs with them, so they could keep an eye on her while they fixed something to eat.

“You _sit_ ,” Taylor commanded, ushering Harry into a stool at the breakfast bar when he tried to prepare something for them. “Let me do it – you look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.”

He chuckled, but didn’t argue, sliding into the closest chair with the bassinet resting a bit further down the bench. “You just had a baby a few hours ago, y’know? You’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“Maybe I find cooking for my boyfriend relaxing,” she countered, flicking the kettle on and stepping aside to grab a pair of mugs out of a cupboard. “Is it breakfast time, do you think, or do we skip to lunch?”

“Breakfast.” He propped his chin up on his hand, gazing fondly as she deftly moved about the kitchen. “You’re going to make a fucking great wife, Taylor.”

Glancing over at his sweet sleepy smile, Taylor beamed back at him, her cheeks a little flushed.

His accent grew stronger when he was tired (and when he was drunk), and it adorably sounded more like ‘fooking’ than ‘fucking’ – and, god, her name sounded wonderful coming out of his mouth ordinarily, and this time, with his added sentiment, it sent blissful tingles down her spine. Right then, she wished the ring she wore was on her left hand instead.

While she set about making them some toast to start, casting suspicious glances over at the bassinet as the kettle boiled though thankfully not receiving any cries of protest at the sound, Harry leaned against the counter and ended up dozing off, his head pillowed on his arms. He always had been able to fall asleep in uncomfortable places, and Taylor marvelled at it once more when she turned to give him a cup of coffee, smiling to herself. She left it at a safe distance, lest he suddenly woke and knocked it over.

Sipping at her own cup, the hot liquid offering a much-needed pick-me-up, Taylor considered eating his peanut butter-covered slices of toast as well, but Harry awoke just as easily as he had fallen asleep when she affectionately ran her fingers through his hair. Blinking slowly, he smiled up at her guiltily, rubbing his face with the heels of his hands as he sat back up properly.

“You’re going to bed after this,” Taylor ordered, setting his plate down in front of him. He refrained from making a comment over how quickly she had turned into a true mother, taking a long drink of coffee instead.

“You’re joining me,” he told her, and she didn’t argue either.

They ate their breakfast in companionable silence, only interrupted when a cat came in for a drink. Olivia jumped up onto the counter – neither of her cats listened when she told them to keep off the kitchen benches – and sent Taylor darting over when she went to inspect the contents of the bassinet. Some intrigued sniffing was harmless, but the last thing Taylor wanted was for either cat to treat the baby like a toy. She grabbed Olivia before she could get the idea to climb inside the bassinet, and after giving her a friendly scratch behind the ears, set her off to wander elsewhere.

Harry pushed back his stool when she came back over, baby undisturbed, allowing Taylor to climb up onto his lap comfortably for the first time in many months. His arms curled around her waist, hers around his shoulders, and they contentedly sat together while they finished off their coffee.

“Thank you,” Taylor said quietly, seemingly out of the blue. Harry looked up at her, still looking greatly in need of sleep, but better off for some food.

“What for?”

“For everything.” She smiled at him, gently kissing his hair. “This is the best day of my entire life.”

“Mine too,” Harry sighed happily, as he rested his head comfortably against her chest, her hand moving up to stroke his hair. “I’m so proud of you, Tay. I can’t tell you enough.”

“Well, you could try,” she said, making them both laugh.

“I intend to.” Nuzzling against the cotton of her t-shirt, Harry inhaled deeply, releasing his breath in a blissful sigh. “God, you smell nice.”

“ _What?_ ” she laughed again, surprised. “I feel like I need a long hot bath.”

“Mmm, I’d like to join you,” he thought. Both longed for each other – not necessarily in intimacy, but simply to be close together, to share in the wonder of their emotions. “You smell milky. Soothing.”

Massaging his scalp, Taylor wondered just how likely it was that he would fall asleep again with her sitting on him like this. “Oh,” she replied softly, repeating the sound when his hand cupped her breast, undemanding.

“I love you,” Harry murmured, and she rested her cheek on the top of his head.

“I love you too, Harry.”

He dropped his hand again, and she could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “We have a daughter.”

“We have a daughter,” Taylor repeated in the same enchanted tone, and they both giggled at the magic of the fact, tilting their heads to meet in a loving kiss that sparked with pure, unadulterated joy.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

In a mere matter of days, Taylor already felt like a sleep deprived zombie – albeit a sleep deprived zombie in high spirits.

The baby slept often and well enough, though naturally woke every few hours to be fed. Anyone else in the house could easily change nappies and rock her to sleep, but only Taylor had the necessary equipment to feed her, which meant she never got the lengthy rests her body really needed.

Everything else seemed to be going well, though, so she wasn’t all that concerned. All Taylor really wanted was to take care of her daughter; her own needs came second.

Her family were constantly looking out for her, helping out however they could. Their friends were all jumping at the chance to fly over and meet their new arrival, as was Harry’s family, all gushing over the adorable pictures they sent in trust.

And, of course, Harry was wonderful, offering her support in a way that no one else could. Taylor was so full of love for him and their child, always needing both of them near, where she could envelop in cuddles and kisses.

There was no shortage of love showered over their precious little angel, that was certain. She was so gentle, with her unbelievably soft skin and silky platinum hair, looking around with her deep blue eyes as she wriggled her tiny limbs, sucking on fists. Much too young to be able to tell who she most resembled, she was beautiful either way. So beautiful.

Taylor couldn’t get enough of looking at her. For hours, she could just sit there, holding her in her arms or watching her as she slept in her cot or bassinet. She marvelled over the fact that she had made this beautiful little creature, that she was going to spend the rest of her life watching her grow and laugh and learn.

Looking at her, there was not a single doubt in Taylor’s mind that she had made the right decision. However unexpected, this little girl who gazed back up at her with complete dependence and trust was exactly what she wanted.

As was the girl’s father, who was sitting on the rug by her feet as she adjusted her nursing bra to offer nourishment. It fascinated Harry, the way her body worked to give their child what she needed, to give her life. And okay, maybe she was also sort of right in her joke about him trying to catch glimpses of her boobs, but could she blame him? She really had grown.

Harry kept quiet as Taylor focused her attention on their baby, making sure she supported her head properly. He grabbed one of the picture books from the bookshelf to have a flick through, reading a colourful story about an adventure of the Rainbow Fish, one he was sure to end up knowing by heart.

“I love that one,” Taylor smiled, when she glanced over to see what he had picked up. “It’s sparkly.”

“Why do I get the feeling this place is going to end up covered in glitter thanks to you two?” he jested, returning the smile as he looked back at her again.

“Because you’re probably right.” She tried not to laugh, as she carefully switched sides. “We’re going to cover daddy in glitter, aren’t we, my little princess? We’re gonna play fairies with daddy.”

“I better get a pretty wand.”

“A crown too, if you’re lucky.”

When the baby’s mouth finally released her nipple with a wet little _pop_ , Harry tossed her a cloth to drape over her shoulder as she gently patted her back, saving her from getting any spit up down the back of her shirt. Taylor wasn’t the only one who smelled milky now – Harry had been victim to a few little spills down his clothes already, same with her mom.

“Thanks, babe,” Taylor smiled at him thankfully, throwing him the towel back after she was done, getting the baby settled again against her chest as she leaned back in the rocking chair. The baby gurgled a little, and Taylor eyed her warily, but after a moment in the clear it didn’t seem like there was any more milk coming back up.

What they were yet to decide on was a name for their newborn. They saw no need in rushing it; they did have a plentiful list of potential names, and they had only found out the baby’s gender a matter of days ago, after all. Taylor suspected Harry was still favouring a name mentioned in a song (among his original suggestions, he had also come up with Layla, Emily, Angie, Delilah, and Ruby), which she was okay with, just as long as it didn’t sound ridiculous.

It was something she thought would come to them naturally. Maybe she was romanticising it a little, in expecting the perfect name to spring into her mind in a moment she looked at their baby, but wonderfully, it actually wasn’t that far off.

With her daughter staring up at her as she played with her tiny hand, Taylor smiled at the rosiness of her plump little lips. She gently bopped the tip of the baby’s nose, and giggled as she watched her go cross-eyed trying to follow the path of her finger. Affectionately trailing it over her soft cheek and down to her chin, she brushed her fingertip delicately over those rosy lips, glistening wetly.

_Rosy_ , she repeated in her mind. Tilting her head, Taylor considered it for a proper moment, as the baby had captured her finger in her mouth and was now sucking on it casually.

“Rosie,” she whispered, glancing over at Harry when he made a humming sound in question. Of course, he was still watching her; he could hardly take his eyes off her normally, but especially when she was interacting so softly with their baby.

“What do you think of Rosalie?” Taylor wondered, dutifully ignoring the drool currently coating the end of her finger.

“’S pretty,” Harry nodded, a smile growing on his lips. “And a bit different. Not weird different, though.”

“Yeah,” she agreed airily, glancing back down at their daughter, who whined in protest when she slipped her finger out of her mouth. “What do you think? Is she a Rosalie? We could call her Rosie for short.”

“I think it’s beautiful. Suits her.”

Taylor beamed, leaning in to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Rosalie. Do you like that, sweetie?”

All she did was blink, a bit of drool dribbling out from one corner of her mouth – but that wasn’t really a no, was it?

Taylor had been thinking about a middle name for a while now, too. Of course, it was always going to depend on what sounded nice with whichever first name they chose, but she liked the idea of dedicating it to their families. With their mothers coincidentally having close names, she thought, rather than having to choose between them, they pick another name that began with Anne, as a nod to the both of them.

“I like Anastasia,” Taylor told him, once she explained her idea. Thankfully, though unsurprisingly, Harry had jumped right on board with it, however his unconcealed amusement at her top suggestion threw her off. “What?”

“Nothing. ‘S just how you say it,” Harry grinned at her.

“What’s wrong with how I say it?”

“Anastasia,” he said, the beginning softer in emphasis with his British accent. It made her roll her eyes, though she didn’t mean it. “Rosalie Anastasia. Sounds rather posh, don’t you think?”

“It makes her sound like a princess, which she is,” Taylor replied definitely, cuddling her a little closer. “But if you don’t like it–”

“I love it, Taylor,” Harry promised her, his voice soft and true. “Can I get a hug from our little princess Rosalie Anastasia?”

With care, Taylor passed her over to him, where he settled her comfortably in his arms. She was unable to hide her own amusement now, though, and he raised his brow at her questioningly.

“It’s just – her accent. Are we going to end up giving her a weird British-American hybrid?”

Harry laughed at that, and she giggled back. Realistically, it was going to come down to where they chose for her to grow up, who she spent the most time around. She would pick up things from the both of them, subtle inflections and turns of phrase, though, for sure.

“Oh, god. Poor thing. You already make fun of me enough–”

“You literally just made fun of _me!_ ”

“’Cause you said it funny!”

“ _You_ say it funny.”

They laughed, a teasing they would always have with each other.

Sliding off the rocking chair, Taylor shuffled over on her knees to plop down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder as she leaned against him.

“I love you,” she sighed, smiling as he turned his head to give her a kiss in return. “Should we go introduce everyone to our little Rosie?”

Harry nodded, and snuck another kiss. “’S a good thing both our mums aren’t here right now, you know. I think there’s going to be some tears.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“Oh. Yours is longer than mine.” Harry looked back at the screen of his own phone, frowning at the notepad app he had open. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, hesitating.

“Don’t change it. Let me read it first.”

They switched phones and began to read the drafts they had each come up with. It had been a week since Rosalie was born, and Taylor felt as ready as she would ever be to tell the world. Regardless of the reaction, sure to be mixed, nothing could possibly change the love she felt for her beautiful little girl.

And for the man beside her, as much as she was certain people would try. But she was tired of letting the opinions of others who didn’t even know her get in the way of her relationships. She loved Harry and Harry loved her – whether people thought that right or wrong didn’t mean anything. It was right for them.

After much deliberation, they had decided on a photo each to post on their Instagram accounts. Taylor had set one up specially: hers, Harry’s and Rosie’s right hands spread together in a triangle on the tabletop, Rosie’s hand appearing even tinier in comparison to theirs. Their matching promise rings were intentionally on display, too.

The picture Harry had chosen was more candid; Taylor hadn’t even realised he had been taking a photo at the time. It had been late in the day, the setting sun casting a soft light as Taylor lingered in the doorway, head turned toward the baby she held against her shoulder to make sure she was okay. The round curve of Rosie’s head peered over her shoulder, but her face was mostly hidden, making it a perfect glimpse into their new life while still maintaining privacy.

All they needed now was accompanying captions, which they had both been drafting thoughtfully. They wanted to express themselves properly, being clear without revealing too much. No matter what they wrote, people were going to assume and believe whatever they wanted, but at least they could try their best not to pour fuel all over their fire.

While Taylor had edited hers, deleting an unnecessary tangent and reworking a few sentences, her draft had turned out twice as long as Harry’s, though that wasn’t all that surprising: his social media posts generally were short. It wasn’t such a bad thing, though, for he still captured the sentiment.

“You’re very eloquent,” Harry complimented, once he finished reading over hers. “Even with all these love heart emojis at the end.”

“Thirteen,” Taylor told him. “There’s thirteen love hearts.”

Harry smiled, not in the least bit surprised. “’S perfect, Tay.”

“Are you sure it’s not too… much?”

Not having been shy about sharing her feelings for Harry, Taylor had erased the possibility of a who’s-the-father debate, but she feared that it would be interpreted as merely a publicity stunt instead. Being called a lying bitch wouldn’t change her mind, but it wouldn’t make her feel all that good, either.

“No. I wouldn’t change anything,” Harry assured her, putting her phone back down on the table in front of her. “Is mine okay? I can add more to it.”

She shook her head before giving his phone back to him, as well. “I like it as it is. Your photo tells a lot of what you haven’t said, anyway.”

“Does it?” Tilting his head, he reopened the photograph, considering it. “What do you think it says?”

“Well, that you’re _here_ , for one. And you can tell that it’s not staged – why would you take it if you didn’t care?”

Whether anyone else would interpret it in the same way, they couldn’t know for sure, but they both loved it, so it didn’t so much matter.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Harry told her gently, resting his hand atop hers fondly. “We can wait.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want to take her out – with _you_ – and I’d rather we were the first ones talking about her, you know? I don’t want that taken away from us.”

There would inevitably be pictures taken of them, of their daughter, but she’d be damned if she was going to let anyone take away their right to be the first ones to publish them.

Turning her hand over to interlink their hands, Taylor smiled at him softly. “I’m not ashamed of her, or of you. And I’m not going to let anyone try to make me feel like I should be.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know?” Harry smiled back, and she giggled as he leaned in to give her a loving kiss. He truly meant it: the strength she had shown over the last nine months, even when she thought she was falling apart, was remarkable; it had made him love her even more.

“So we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

Clutching their phones with determination, they opened up Instagram and selected their photos, pasting in their captions. They hesitated over the publish button, counting down from three so they posted at the exact same time. Within seconds, they liked each other’s posts, and closed the app as their notifications began to blow up.

Taylor squealed with her spike of exhilaration, carelessly dropping her phone on the table like a hot coal. They both started giggling, and she threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.

It was out of their hands now. And as they laughed and kissed, the telling of their special news finally felt like freedom.

 

*** * * * ***  
  


“You’re cheating,” Harry murmured with a smile in his voice, as they laid together on the couch that night. Taylor was leaning up against him, tucked up under his arm, and her cheeks turned pink, as if he wasn’t going to notice that she had her phone in her hand, open to Tumblr, against their decision to stay off social media until the attention on them cooled. Curiosity over what her fans, the ones that still stood by her, thought had her opening the app anyway.

“Sorry,” she said, hitting close and leaving her phone upside down so she wouldn’t be so tempted.

Harry dipped his head against her neck, his nose brushing the skin under her ear. “What’re they saying.”

A soft smile formed on her lips, and Taylor snuggled back up against him, feeling a pleasant sense of home with his arms around her and their baby sleeping soundly upstairs. “They’re shocked. But they’re happy for us.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Taylor fell asleep at her own party.

There had been much discussion over whether or not she should host her traditional Fourth of July party, but Taylor had been insistent that she could manage it perfectly well, along with her new responsibilities. It would be on a smaller scale – they wouldn’t be heading to her Rhode Island house as usual – so there wouldn’t be so much to plan. And it would be the perfect opportunity for their friends to come and meet little Rosalie, like they all very much wanted to.

She had managed to convince her parents that the party would be good for her – and it was, really. Taylor needed to spend some time with her friends – plus, all the more help with such a young child was always welcome.

Rosie was fussed over immensely, being cooed over as she got a cuddle from everyone. She didn’t particularly seem to mind, given everyone was gentle with her and didn’t disturb her sleep. Of course, she didn’t know what was going on, why she had been dressed in a red bodysuit covered in white stars, but she didn’t seem distressed by the sudden influx of company, which was the main thing.

Taylor thrived in amongst her friends, feeling so _normal_ in her Americana dress, offering drinks and snacks and making sure everyone was doing okay as they revelled in the Independence Day festivities. She was so beyond tired that she didn’t so much notice it anymore, not like she had in the first new days of having a newborn. With a tummy contentedly full of potato salad, Taylor wasn’t even aware of her decision to close her eyes for a moment as she sat tucked under Harry’s arm, let alone actually manage to fall asleep in the middle of chatter between a group of her friends.

Harry noticed first, feeling her head rest heavily on his shoulder and the rest of her slump against his side. He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head affectionately, and left her hair fallen in a curtain covering her face as she caught a glimpse of much-needed rest.

“Poor babe,” Gigi smiled sympathetically, once it became known they had temporarily lost a voice in the conversation. “She must be exhausted.”

“She’s doing amazing,” Harry complimented with such an admiration in his tone that the girls around him couldn’t help but smile meaningfully between each other. “Could do with a really good sleep, though.”

A good sleep wasn’t what she was going to get sitting up amidst a party, however. The moment that Rosalie woke up herself and started to cry, Taylor’s eyes snapped open and she lifted her head, startled. Harry rubbed her back as she came back to her senses, and no one laughed at her – god, no one laughed at her, she was so lucky to have found her real friends.

After Taylor slipped upstairs to change the baby’s soggy nappy, she returned to find there had been a unanimous decision that it was time for a dip in the pool. Which she wasn’t opposed to – it was a sunny summer day, after all – only she was highly reluctant to leave Rosie, particularly while she was awake.

While the others changed into their swimmers, Taylor lingered in the kitchen, holding Rosie in one arm while she dipped some crackers in a creamy dip.

“You want some, sweetie?” Taylor said, as Rosie reached an arm up toward the half-eaten cracker in her hand. “I don’t think you’ll like it. You’re a bit little.”

Not to mention she would very likely choke herself trying to suck on a cracker. No way was that happening on Taylor’s watch.

Rosie still mumbled at her, until she eventually decided just to shove her fist in her mouth instead.

Taylor was bouncing her a little, trying to see if she could make her laugh, when Karlie was the first one to return in her swimsuit – long time model, she was well accustomed to quick changes. She was smiling as Taylor glanced up at her, and if she noticed Taylor admiring how fit she looked in her red stripy bikini, she didn’t mention it.

“She’s so sweet,” Karlie sighed dreamily as she came over and Rosie turned her wide-eyed gaze onto her, her wet fist slowly falling from her mouth as if in awe. Taylor was rather inclined to agree that her supermodel friend had that effect on people. “I’m so happy for you, Tay.”

“Thank you,” Taylor smiled back kindly. “You wanna hold her again?”

“Please!”

When Taylor carefully passed her over, Rosie made a small sound at the movement, and, much to Taylor’s horror, grabbed onto what little fabric Karlie was wearing. Karlie laughed, thank god, yet Taylor didn’t trust that her daughter wasn’t about to tug on the bikini top and flash her poor Auntie Karlie’s body. After all, Taylor knew the surprisingly strong grip she was capable of.

Rosie didn’t let her expectations down, though thankfully Karlie was deft in detaching the little hand before any real damage was done. They were still alone in the kitchen, anyway.

“I’m so sorry,” Taylor immediately apologised, cringing.

“It’s okay.” Her amusement was clear in her voice. “She’s got a good grip, doesn’t she?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Taylor said, wincing slightly at the thought of having to feed her again soon. At least she had a soothing cream to keep her nipples from drying, a recommendation she was sincerely glad for.

They were interrupted by the sound of male voices coming down the stairs, raucous in the enjoyment of the company, no matter that none of them were actually American.

When Taylor had told him to invite some of his friends, that it was now in part his party too, Harry had been more reserved in his invitations. Most of those he had asked had already had plans or were unable to make it to Nashville on short notice, or, like Ed, had already been invited. He had gotten Niall into it, though, and the three of them were typical loud mates together, flying flags for England and Ireland in the face of American Independence.

She wondered whether having Harry here had been a good idea when she caught a first glimpse of what he was wearing.

“Where on earth did you get _those?_ ”

“You don’t like them?” Harry said with such a cheesy grin as he strode in, showing off the terribly touristy swim shorts he had put on, patterned with drawings of British guards and corgis, a la Buckingham Palace.

“They’re ridiculous.” Taylor shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?”

Harry laughed, as the rest of them smiled at him. The others had embraced their own heritage as well, though in a less cheesy way, with Ed in a Union Jack t-shirt and Niall in shorts coloured with the Irish flag. Of course Harry was always going to be the one to find something stranger than that.

“You coming out, babe?”

“Yeah. Rosie’s gonna be hungry soon; I’ll change after.”

Accepting the baby back from Karlie, Taylor tried to ignore the look Harry was giving her. She knew he wanted to stay with her, so she wouldn’t feel left out, but she didn’t want to sacrifice his own fun.

“Don’t forget sunscreen, you guys,” she reminded them instead. “You know, for your sensitive British skin.”

That caused a stir, as anticipated, and the lot of them were passing banter as the crowd in the kitchen grew, helping each other to apply sunscreen to their bare skin. With care, Taylor applied some to Rosie’s exposed arms and legs, as well, dotting it onto her face, making sure not to get it too close to her lips or on her hands, lest she get it in her mouth. It was too hot out just to wrap her in a blanket for protection.

After grabbing a hat for Rosie’s little head, Taylor headed outside with the rest of them, finding a spot in the shade of a tree near the pool so she could watch on easily. Naturally, she wasn’t left all on her own: Abigail sat down beside her, as did Harry.

“ _Go_ ,” Taylor urged him on, not long after he settled down. “Go get those shorts wet.”

“Ooh,” Harry smiled a little flirtatiously, teasing, and she prodded him in the thigh.

“I’m serious. Go have fun, babe, we’re fine here,” she insisted, with a glance down at Rosalie, who she had laid down on a blanket over the grass and was looking around her new surroundings curiously, a small stuffed bunny rabbit toy tucked loosely under her arm.

“I’m perfectly happy here,” he assured her, smiling as Taylor rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed lightly.

“That’s sweet, but it’s okay. I just want to stay with her for a bit, I’ll be there soon.”

Seeing that he was unlikely to win the debate, Harry settled with, “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” and at her nod, gave her a kiss on the cheek. He did the same for Rosie, who he told, “Be good for mummy, sweetheart.”

They watched him get up to go, and when he looked back over his shoulder, Taylor waved him off. Harry smiled over at her, and she was very glad he was here after all.

Beside her, Abigail adjusted her round sunglasses, smiling between the two. “He’s taking care of you,” she said, not phrased as a question.

“I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Taylor answered, her gaze lingering on Harry as he headed for the edge of the pool, before she turned back to Abigail with a warm smile. “He’s so good with Rosie, and he just… he knows how to take some of the stress off me.”

They both watched over the excitement going on in the pool, involving a few too many inflatables in the one area. For an absurd moment, Taylor felt like they were teenagers in high school again, watching the cool kids from the outside. All the beautiful girls and cute guys…

She snapped out of it when Abigail gently elbowed her. “You okay?” she asked, and Taylor once more saw the group as her friends. God, she could do with a good, long sleep.

“Yeah. I was just thinking how much things have changed.” Taylor reached forward to touch one of Rosie’s bare feet, rubbing her thumb affectionately over the sole. “You’re getting married soon, I have a baby,” she said, unable to stop from smiling down at her little daughter. “This is the kind of stuff we _dreamed_ of.”

Abigail put her arm around her shoulders and Taylor threatened, “Stop it, I’m still prone to spontaneous crying,” which made the pair of them laugh.

They quietened a moment, then Taylor noticed Abigail had started humming ‘This is What Dreams Are Made Of’ and they both burst into giggles again.

After a little while, Rosalie started fussing, smacking her lips with insistence. Taylor scooped her up, and with a parting word for Abigail to join the others, she headed back inside, aware of the green eyes that followed her from the pool without having to turn around.

Patting the baby’s back on the way, fearing she might start to cry on the way, Taylor went up to the nursery, where she found it most comfortable to feed her daughter. She let the strap of her dress fall off her shoulder once she settled in the rocking chair, sighing as Rosie’s mouth clamped on her breast and offered both of them relief; it had been beginning to grow uncomfortable waiting for Rosie to want the milk her body had produced.

She rocked them together for a little while after Rosie was full, relishing the moment of solitude in a completely quiet house. Of course, she appreciated the regular presence of Harry and her family, as well as her group of friends now, but every so often, Taylor needed a few minutes to herself. Holding her baby in quiet together washed her with an overwhelming sense of calm that she never wanted to let go of.

With forethought, Taylor rested Rosalie down in her bassinet, rather than having to disturb her from her cot later. She made sure the baby monitor was near her, before she stepped out and into her own bedroom, for a moment truly to herself. The other monitor was still on her nightstand, as if neither of them would wake if Rosie started screaming in the next room during the night without it.

In the midst of finding her new swimsuit, Taylor heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and she shook her head, knowing immediately who it was. Anyone needing the bathroom would use one downstairs, so unless anyone staying up here had forgotten anything…

The footsteps stopped by the nursery, moments later continuing in her direction, and she needn’t turn around to see for sure who was inviting themselves into her room.

“I thought I told you to go have fun without me.”

The sound of Harry’s laugh made her smile, and she turned to find his ridiculous shorts clinging to him with pool water, the towel he had used to dry off before coming inside draped around his shoulders, catching the drips that fell from his slicked back hair. God, he was gorgeous.

“Just wanted to check you were doing okay. You’ve been gone a while.”

“Not that long.”

“Long enough.”

They were smiling, as he slid his arms around her waist and hers went around his neck. His body felt wonderfully cool from his dip in the pool; she didn’t mind at all that he was getting her clothes wet.

“Sure that’s why you came?” Taylor teased when he kissed her, giggling as he pressed his lips back to hers. They only seemed to have fleeting moments these days, kisses when they were alone; sex was still out of the question for her. Not that she didn’t want to – and she knew he did – but she just wasn’t ready.

“Thought you might need some help,” Harry said, between kisses. “Sunscreen and the like.”

“Mmm, you’re so charming.” The way she nipped at his bottom lip only added to the teasing, especially as she pulled away right after. “Why don’t you go say hi to your daughter while I change?”

He could take a hint: he gave her a moment’s privacy to dress, slipping back into the nursery to check on Rosie. Taylor could hear his voice muffled through the walls, the sweet gentle tone he reserved just for Rosie; it made her heart swell.

The feeling was quelled when she found herself in front of the mirror, adjusting her swimsuit. She had had the sense to buy a new one for the party – while she could likely get away with the plain bikini she had favoured in her later pregnancy, one that easily adjusted with its elastic ties, she knew it was a bit too small for her. The thought of Harry’s initial reaction was enough to make her blush all over again.

“ _Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?_ ” Harry had grinned when he walked in on her setting an empty glass in the kitchen sink, after having whistled at her, low and complimentary. _She_ had thought she looked rather ridiculous, with her rounded baby bump and her boobs threatening to spill out of her triangle bikini top. If she took too many steps, the bottoms also gave her a wedgie, which couldn’t be sexy, but that obviously wasn’t what Harry had been seeing.

“ _I look like a watermelon,_ ” she had commented dryly, one that made him snort with laughter.

He had made it known that he would’ve liked nothing better than to bend her over the dining table, and she had very nearly let him, too. She hadn’t felt remotely attractive in weeks, and Harry kissed her neck as he stood behind her, cupping her breasts in both hands, his half hard cock noticeable through his shorts, had momentarily made her feel like she was okay after all.

In part, that was what she needed again now. Looking at her reflection, Taylor wasn’t all that thrilled with what she saw. As soon as Harry came back in, he detected it instantly in her expression.

Moving to stand behind her, he rested his hands on her hips, familiar and solid. “Talk to me,” he asked quietly.

Taylor bit her lip. How was she supposed to tell him what she was really thinking?

“Do you have a really long t-shirt I could borrow?”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot go out there looking like this.”

One thing that had always stuck with her was her insecurities. She didn’t _want_ to be, but when she had watched her girlfriends come out earlier, fit and toned and completely to die for, Taylor had been jealous. _She_ really wasn’t that thin anymore, and while she knew it didn’t really _matter_ , especially not to the crowd outside, she just couldn’t shake the small thought that it did.

The one piece she had chosen covered her stomach, soft with remaining baby fat (god, she could _not_ tell him that!), and kept everything nicely tucked in. Well, mostly, anyway.

“You said you liked this one,” Harry reminded her, rubbing the bright red material that covered her hip. It was plain, aside from the white scripted letters that spelled out ‘dream’ across her chest. When she had found it online, she’d thought it just what she needed.

“I look like I’ve had a boob job!” Taylor exclaimed. Much to Harry’s credit, he didn’t laugh, as much as he would’ve liked to.

“Well… you _are_ bigger,” he agreed loosely. “But I wouldn’t put it like that.”

Still, when she saw the way her breasts swelled against the fabric of her swimsuit, very round and very obvious, that was what came to mind.

Tilting her head, Taylor chewed on her bottom lip, running her hands down her chest protectively before dropping them down below Harry’s. “God, and my _thighs_. I look so– _mmmffphmm_.”

Harry’s hand closing over her mouth stopped her from making any further negative comments about herself.

“You look fucking amazing,” Harry told her confidently, ignoring her incomprehensible mumbles of protest behind his hand. “I know– I _know_ you’re not just going to believe me, but you have to know that nobody out there is going to judge you, Tay. They all love you. _Exactly_ as you are.”

He leaned in closer, his lips just beside her ear, as their eyes remained locked in their reflection in the mirror. The glint in his and the cheeky curve of his lips gave her a hint as to what sort of vote of confidence he was going to offer her next.

“But since we’re talking about your thighs, I think they’d look rather nice wrapped around my– _oww!_ ”

Harry jerked his hand from her mouth when she sunk her teeth sharply into his finger, shaking it out while she smirked back at him in the mirror.

“We’re not talking about where my thighs should go.”

_Although she kind of liked it._

Turning her face to him, Taylor’s expression softened, trust in her eyes as she rested her hands on his chest. His skin had warmed, from being inside and being in her close proximity.

“I know my friends aren’t gonna judge,” she affirmed, more quietly. “It’s just… I’ve been so focused on Rosie, I haven’t really been thinking about how I look.”

“You look…” Harry smiled at her with such a tenderness that it surprised her. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed, and couldn’t quite believe she had managed to make him emotional. “You don’t need to change a thing.”

That made _her_ emotional, and she kissed him before either of them could say anything more.

They extracted themselves shortly after, as much as they would’ve liked some more time alone. They wouldn’t ditch their party for long, though; once Harry had helped her apply some sunscreen and grabbed a towel for her, they brought the bassinet down with them, Rosie now sleeping soundly.

What she didn’t quite know was what to _do_ with the bassinet. She didn’t want to leave it inside where Rosie would be on her own, in case she urgently needed attention – or one of the cats came to inspect her, or try to join her in the little bed, like she had been shocked to find Olivia once trying to climb inside to curl up at Rosie’s feet, despite the lack of room for her. She didn’t want to leave her unattended outside either, for the same sort of reason.

The problem was solved, though, when they re-emerged outside and Austin offered to watch her for a while, so she needn’t worry.

“Thank you,” Taylor smiled at her brother gratefully, giving his arm a friendly squeeze.

Taylor managed to relax for a jubilant while as a bunch of them messed around in the pool, laughing and splashing, carefree. Little groups paired off to watch over the baby, switching every so often, so that both Taylor and Harry had a chance to have some fun, relieved of immediate parenting duties.

They hopped up onto an inflatable unicorn together when a floatie race was declared – not that it was a very successful race, mind. It was mostly two or three people riding the one toy, bumping into other blow up animals, making little progress to the opposite end of the pool. Thankfully for the substantial block, the neighbours weren’t close by to hear the enthusiastic shouts coming from the racers – or to see the event in action, thanks to the line of trees that bordered the fences for privacy.

Naturally, there were plenty of photos taken throughout the day. Taylor particularly liked the one of her and Harry on the unicorn inflatable, his arm around her middle as he sat behind her, both of them grinning for the camera. His shorts had ridden up and were showing off the bottom of the tiger tattoo on his thigh that normally stayed hidden, for all but a few.

The most unexpected was perhaps the picture of Rosalie wearing Harry’s sunglasses. It had been taken later in the afternoon, when Harry had taken a seat on the deck with Ed and Niall, the trio of non-Americans. He had picked up Rosie, who had started fussing for some attention, and when he noticed her squinting against the setting sun, he had popped his sunglasses on her face. They were much too big for her and looked silly, which was rather the point.

“What are you doing to her?” Taylor called out from the edge of the pool, resting her arms on the bricks as she smiled over at them. Between the game of not-quite-volleyball that a group of them were playing in the pool, split into two halves, she routinely glanced over in her daughter’s direction, and while the sudden accessory was unexpected, she wasn’t entirely surprised.

“Keeping the sun out her eyes, obviously,” Harry answered back, grinning at her having noticed. “You don’t like it?”

“They’re not squishing her nose, right? She can breathe?”

Glancing down at the baby in his arms, he put a finger under her little nose to double check, and feeling her gentle breath, he gave a thumbs up. “She’s good.”

“Except she’s in the arms of the enemy – who’s drinking beer; what kind of babysitters are you?”

“Smart ones,” Niall threw in, lifting his bottle of beer ceremoniously.

“She’s half British,” Harry reminded her, teasing, “Really, she should be wearing some of those Union Jack sunglasses, the novelty ones. And holding a cup of tea.”

“Except she doesn’t know how to hold a cup, so she’d be dumping the tea like the American she is.”

She pushed back off the wall with a smirk, to the satisfying sound of ‘ _Ooh’_ s from her fellow Americans who had been listening.

The day went on, with a barbecue dinner at sunset, hanging around on the deck. Taylor had strung up Christmas lights outside for a prettier atmosphere once the sun went down, the interweaved strands of tiny red, white and blue lights glowing like fireflies once darkness set in. They passed stories and drinks (only Taylor’s non-alcoholic, of course) and not one present felt at all any of the pressures of their lives in the company of such good friends.

It was Taylor, perhaps, who felt it the most. Dancing at midnight, barefoot on the grass, one hand held in Selena’s and the other holding an alight sparkler, Taylor felt all at once like herself again. The girl who danced, who adored everything that sparkled, and who believed in love and found magic in every smile her lover bestowed upon her.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

There was no helping their parting: movie promo was calling Harry’s name, and he had no choice but to head for Europe, leaving his girls behind.

He was asked about them, of course. Plenty of journalists felt the need to ask about his new family, instead of, y’know, _the film he was promoting_. Still, he handed himself well, with years worth of practice fielding prying questions from people with microphones magnifying their importance.

“They’re doing great, thank you,” Harry had smiled repetitively, and largely avoided further intrusions into his personal life.

Not that he didn’t _want_ to talk about Taylor and Rosie – god, Harry was absolutely besotted with them, and he showed off more than enough photos to his fellow _Dunkirk_ castmates he was on promo tour with, the friends he had come to know over the tough few months filming. He just couldn’t help himself.

Rosie had left him with a questionable reminder of her: when he had been saying goodbye, she had, at that pinnacle moment, delightfully spit up down the front of his navy blue shirt.

“ _Shit_ ,” he had cursed, though smiling along with Taylor standing by him.

“No, but that’s probably coming next,” she’d smiled back, grabbing a handy tissue and trying to dab it off for him. Even with a change of shirt before departing, he thought the smell of baby sick lingered on him.

Harry missed everything, including those messy parts. He loved being a father, getting to hold his child, cuddle and play with her, singing to her and kissing her tiny toes. It wasn’t all that long that he was going away for now, he couldn’t even think of what it was going to be like when he began his tour in late September. Maybe he _could_ convince Taylor to come along with him…

The tour was on her mind, too – more so as how she was going to manage without him for so long. Her parents were more than willing to continue helping out, but Taylor couldn’t ask for constant support, not in good conscience. All that she could hope for was that she would be capable of taking care of their daughter on her own.

She was doing well so far, despite her doubts. Rosie seemed contented in her home, never short on love, and was in good health. An unfortunate rash had upset her for a couple days, but some soothing balm helped to clear it up, and she was fine again fairly quickly, thank god. Taylor was dreading the inevitable time she would first fall ill, and could only hope that it wouldn’t be anything too terrible. The last thing she wanted was to have to see her little baby in pain.

The screaming she had had to quell when Rosie experienced cat scratches for the first time was still making her wary about either of the cats coming within her vicinity. Taylor suspected it had been Rosie’s fault, but she was a baby – she couldn’t understand that grabbing onto the fur of the cat sitting beside her wasn’t a good idea, that it wouldn’t appreciate her tight grip. But still, Meredith shouldn’t have taken a swipe at a defenceless baby, which Taylor had told her forcefully, punctuated by Rosie’s piercing shriek.

With time, Taylor had been able to discern between Rosie’s different cries. On one of the mummy blogs, she had stumbled across a quote that she had found particularly useful on multiple occasions: ‘When in doubt, pop it out.’ Most of the time, Rosie was indeed satisfied by being fed.

Taylor just hoped that Rosie _was_ happy. She thought so, was sure that she would be able to tell if her baby was miserable, but with her scattered mother-of-a-newborn brain, she wasn’t sure she could be sure of anything anymore.

It was easier when Harry returned home, accompanied by his mum and sister. His family fell in love with their little girl, Anne joining in on Andrea’s joy of being a grandmother. Thankfully, their families were getting along well, just as they had desperately wanted them to.

Taylor enjoyed spending time with Gemma, and Harry now understood why she had been so excited to see him with Austin. Although, between Gemma and Anne, he wondered how many embarrassing stories Taylor might be learning, though he found it didn’t really bother him. He wanted to give her all of him, good and bad.

They caused quite a stir, when Gemma started posting pictures on her Instagram from Nashville. It wasn’t difficult for people to join the dots – and Gemma all but confirmed it when she added a video to her Instagram story of Olivia, lying beside her with her leg on a strange angle, the giggles of both her and Taylor detectable in the background.

Between all the unkind comments that had flared up since they had made their announcement, Taylor saw no harm in letting people know that assumptions Harry wanted nothing to do with her were wrong. Not that she thought she needed to explain herself, not when those who mattered knew the truth, but Gemma’s acknowledgement that they were spending time together was a nice little fuck you to those who deserved it. As was Anne’s photo of her holding the wrapped bundle that was Rosalie, her face hidden, which she had asked profusely whether Taylor was comfortable with first; who was she to deny a proud grandmother their chance to show off the new addition to their family?

Largely, she ignored what was being said about her. Her concerns lay primarily with the welfare of her daughter, though she would be lying if she said that the comments made about her online didn’t have an impact on her at all.

Everything did take its toll on Taylor. Often, she needed a few minutes to herself, where she could take a moment to breathe, releasing some of her stress – long showers were particularly cleansing, though she would begin to feel guilty if she took too much time for herself.

Naturally, Harry was worried about her, and tried to offer help wherever he could, comforting her with his regular affection. How much of a difference it made, he couldn’t say for sure – particularly when he found her sitting out on the steps of the back deck one afternoon, her shoulders slumped. With forethought, he stuffed a tissue in his back pocket before going out to check on her.

Taylor glanced over her shoulder when she heard the sliding door open, fully expecting it to be someone coming to tell her that Rosie needed her. When Harry came to sit down beside her, though, she relaxed again.

“Rosie okay?” she was still compelled to ask, needing the confirmation.

“Yeah. Having another sleep,” Harry told her, with a friendly smile as he added, “Y’know, for someone who doesn’t do much, she sleeps an awful lot.”

“Being a baby must be exhausting,” she replied dryly, though a small smile tugged at her own lips as she glanced at him. It faded as soon as he asked how she was doing.

Truthfully, she didn’t quite know how she was feeling. Full of love, for sure, but she was stressed, tired, and second guessing herself more than she should be.

“I’m okay,” she still told him, even though she knew he wouldn’t let it go that easily.

As Harry put his arm around her, she already felt her resolve weaken. “You can always talk to me, you know?”

“Of course,” Taylor nodded, sighing as he left room for her to start talking _now_. “I’m fine, honestly. It’s just… sometimes it gets… overwhelming. I just needed a minute.”

“You don’t feel like that… often, do you?”

“I’m not _depressed_ , Harry. I’m just…”

“It would be okay,” he assured her gently, before she could come up with the right description. “It’s not uncommon for new mums.”

“I know, but I’m not,” she replied adamantly. “I’m… I’m _worried_ about whether I’m doing any of this right, that’s all. I can’t just measure how I’m doing – I’m scared I’m not being the best for our girl and that’s… that’s all I want for her.”

That was really what Harry had been suspecting, though what he didn’t know was quite what to do about it. Telling her how great she was doing was all well and good, but it didn’t mean she would automatically believe him. He knew that from experience.

He didn’t have to immediately decide, as now that she had started, she found it easier to spill what she had been keeping to herself.

“It’s hard thinking that I could be doing more, but what more can I do, you know? Should I be with her all the time, or is that not good for her? Will that lead to problems down the track, where she won’t sleep properly on her own? She sleeps okay now – at least I think so, I mean, it’s normal for her to wake up to want to eat every few hours, right? And how am I supposed to know how long I’m supposed to breastfeed her, anyway; everything I’ve read says something different, how am I supposed to know what’s right for me? Or right for her? ‘Cause that’s all I want: what’s best for her, and I just _don’t know_ what that is.”

Briefly biting down on her lip, Taylor shook her head, before resting it in her hands in defeat. “I don’t _know_ what I’m doing.”

As soon as Harry pulled her into him, she lost control of her emotions and immediately started crying, tears that she had been trying to hold in to give the illusion that she was 100% confident in how she was doing as a new mum. A part of her had known it was silly – no one was expecting her to have it completely together – but she was afraid that if she let her worries get the better of her, they would consume her, to the point where she _would_ develop the post-natal depression that affects so many new mothers, and what good would she be to Rosalie if that happened?

Harry let her cry, holding her until she had released all that she needed to – and long after, too. He gave her the tissue he had brought along, and she thankfully wiped her face and blew her nose without self-consciousness. How many times had they been in this position, after all?

“I’m sorry,” Taylor murmured, when she felt recovered enough to speak again. “I don’t mean to unload everything on you.”

“’S kind of what I’m here for,” Harry countered, which got a small smile out of her.

“I feel bad about,” she swallowed, “about you, too. That we’re not… _you know_ …”

He smiled then too, rubbing his hand over her back. “That doesn’t bother me, love.” Her doubtful look made him laugh, and he shrugged, as if to say, _well, what do you expect?_ They both knew he wanted to have sex with her again, but while he had given her open invitations to make that step, he hadn’t at all tried to pressure her. “I want to wait ‘til you’re ready. You know that.”

“I know.” Taylor rested her hand on his knee fondly. There was more to her apprehension over being intimate with him again, but she didn’t want to go into that, not right now.

Brushing her hair back over her shoulder with a gentle touch, Harry’s expression softened. “You’re doing wonderfully, you know? Watching you and Rosie, ‘s like… you’re so sweet with her. You really are a beautiful mum, Taylor.”

“Thank you,” Taylor said softly, her smile lighting with her genuine gratitude. “I love watching you with her, too. I always knew you were going to be such a loving father, but actually seeing it is so… Oh, gosh, can you believe we’re really a _family?_ ”

They laughed gently, leaning closer together. It had been only a few weeks, and yet it felt… well, _normal_. Taylor had worried that things would change for the worse between them once the baby was born, that the test of parenting would tear them apart, but it was rather the opposite: Taylor didn’t think she had ever been closer to Harry. He was there for her and understood her in a way she had never expected when they first got together, in a way she had begun to fear that nobody would. For a time, she had questioned whether any of this was possible for her, to find real love and start a family, and now that she had it, she realised she was crazy to ever doubt it. This was exactly what she wanted, and who she wanted it with.

Every day wouldn’t be easy, but that’s what they were here for: to support each other. Not for the first time, she wished she had come to him earlier.

“Can I take you out sometime?” Harry had been meaning to ask. “It’s been a while since we’ve done anything just us two; I think it’ll be good for us.”

“I don’t know…” Taylor hesitated, as much as she agreed that a date night was in order. “I don’t like leaving Rosie for long.”

“You went out with Abigail, though, and she was okay,” he reminded her. While Harry had been away, she and Abigail had gone out to the cinema together to show their support, catching an afternoon session of _Dunkirk_. Taylor had been highly reluctant to leave Rosie for that time, but she couldn’t very well take a newborn into a movie theatre that was blaring a war movie through its surround sound system. It unsurprisingly hadn’t featured in any of the ‘moms & bubs’ sessions (though she made note to check back with their showings, glad that there was an activity she could still enjoy that was baby-friendly), so her parents had kindly babysat for her while she went out with her long-time friend. Rosie had reportedly slept through most of that time, and admittedly, Taylor returned feeling rather refreshed from the break (and a little turned on by Harry’s performance, not that she mentioned _that_ to anyone but him).

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem finding anyone willing to mind her for a little while,” Harry added, with a knowing smile. They had a houseful of family at the ready for just that sort of thing.

“Okay,” Taylor agreed, albeit still with reluctance. He was sure he would be able to properly convince her, though.

For now, he suggested something else that also appealed to her. “You know what, love? You have some time out tonight. I’ll run you a nice hot bath, with–”

“Bubbles.”

“Bubbles,” he continued, laughing at her interjection. “And some candles, a cup of tea, and you can listen to some music or read a book, or whatever you like. I’ll watch Rosie – you deserve some proper time to yourself.”

That actually meant more to her than the prospect of a date night. Taylor smiled at his thoughtfulness – he could’ve easily included himself in the equation, and she would’ve happily accepted, yet he understood that what she needed more was some time to relax on her own, to not have to think about anyone’s needs but her own.

Cupping his face with both her hands, Taylor kissed him deeply, her thank you expressed clear as day.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

The first time it happened was just after bath time.

It was a Wednesday morning, and Taylor had decided to give Rosie a bath after a particularly gross diaper. Harry hadn’t volunteered this time, since the last time he had washed the baby, she had gracefully peed on him, looking right at him without any hint of remorse. _He_ had needed a wash after that.

Rosie seemed to enjoy bath time, though. She was perfectly willing to be set down in the special little baby tub, never making a fuss. They tried to make it fun for her, by splashing her and letting her hold a yellow rubber duck as they got her clean. For someone so small, she had a pretty good arm: Taylor squealed in surprise when the rubber duck bounced off her head.

“Rosalie, did you just throw _ducky_ at me?” she gasped, and the baby kicked her feet, splashing more water, which was definitely a yes.

Taylor gave the toy back when Rosie opened and close her fist, needy, and they finished up without any more duck-throwing incidents.

Drying her off with a fluffy towel, Taylor wrapped it around Rosie, to take her back into the nursery to dress her; she would clean up the water splashed on the bathroom floor later. She held her against her chest as she grabbed a little yellow polka dot dress to put her in, rimmed with white lace around the sleeves.

Thankfully, Rosie didn’t seem to mind being on the change table, most of the time. She mumbled a little when Taylor put her down, but she let her take the towel off with ease, only fidgeting a little.

Taylor patted some talcum powder onto the baby’s small round bum before putting on a fresh nappy, to help avoid any more rashes. On her clean, soft skin, she massaged a baby lotion all over, making sure to be gentle with her small limbs. Gosh, Rosie seemed to be getting bigger all the time, and livelier, as her recent bath had just proved.

“You’re going to be running around here in no time, aren’t you?” Taylor smiled down at her daughter, who was lifting her legs up in the air. “And dancing too, huh? You gonna dance with mommy?”

Gently grasping the little feet, she played with them, waving them to and fro as she sung, “ _Shake it off, shake it off_.” She liked making change time fun, too.

With a dab more lotion on her fingers, Taylor rubbed it into the soles of Rosie’s feet, fluttering light kisses over her tiny toes. Rosie made an amused sort of sound, and when Taylor glanced up at her face as she playfully tickled her feet, she very nearly cried out loud at what she saw.

“Rosie!” Taylor gasped ecstatically, her face alight with pure enchantment. “My sweet little angel, did you just _smile_ at me?!”

To test that she hadn’t just been imagining it, Taylor tickled her again, this time on her sides, and Rosie wriggled automatically, an adorable smile curving her pink lips for the first – no, the _second_ time. This time, Taylor couldn’t help it, she squealed with joy. Her baby could finally smile!

“Oh, Rosie, you’re so beautiful! Aren’t you? You’ve got the most beautiful smile in the world!” Taylor gushed, leaning in to press numerous kisses to her chubby little cheek.

“Harry! Harry, babe, come quick!”

It didn’t take Harry long to respond to her call; he could hear the excitement in her voice, yet he came bounding in as if it were an emergency. Finding Taylor fit to burst with delight and Rosie in nothing but a nappy, he didn’t know _what_ to expect, but at least it didn’t seem to be anything bad.

“What’s up?” he asked, with a hint of caution. It wasn’t often she called for him like this.

“Play with her,” Taylor instructed, which wasn’t what he had been anticipating at all.

“Play with her?” he repeated, and she nodded eagerly.

“Play. You’ll see.”

As Harry approached the change table, Rosie turned her head to him, humming as she recognised her daddy. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said gently, cupping her cheek as he gave her a kiss on the top of her head. He didn’t know quite what to _do_ when put on the spot, and he ended up taking the most obvious option, tickling her too. And, just as she had for Taylor, Rosie smiled up at Harry, a small crease in her cheek on one side.

Harry gasped, and a smile just like Taylor’s blossomed on his face. “She’s smiling!”

“She’s _smiling!_ ” Taylor repeated, bouncing on her toes with uncontained joy. She started giggling, and Harry did too, and she put her arm around his waist and his went around her shoulders as they stared down at their little girl, dying for her to do it again.

“I was just playing with her feet and she smiled at me!” Taylor beamed. “Oh my god, Harry, she’s so sweet! She can smile! And, look – she’s got your dimples! I _hoped_ she would get them, they’re the cutest thing.”

Affectionately he rubbed under Rosie’s chin with his forefinger, unable to wipe the grin off his own face. “I think you just made our day, sweetheart,” he said to her, and she hummed again.

“We have to get a picture,” Taylor realised, glancing around the room to see what else might get Rosie smiling. “Can you finish changing her? I’ve gotta write this down in the book.”

“Sure, love.” Taking her place, he picked up the dress Taylor had chosen and held it up for Rosie to see. “You’re a little sunflower today, eh? Very fitting, my dear.”

Taylor grabbed the baby book out from the bookshelf and the pen she left on top, sitting down in the rocking chair and flicking through to the page she was after. She was a little obsessed with noting down firsts in the baby book they had bought especially for documenting those kinds of memories, which Harry found rather endearing. With all the notes she had written and all the photos they had taken, Rosie was going to have plenty to look back on when she was older.

After scribbling an overexcited memo, complete with thirteen exclamation marks and a group of love hearts in the bottom corner, Taylor closed the book and hugged it to her chest as she looked up to find Harry pulling faces at Rosie, trying to see which she found the funniest.

It was Taylor who was left giggling, though, and Harry grinned over at her at the sound.

“C’mon,” she smiled, as she stood back up. “Everyone _has_ to see this!”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Rosie was a happy child – or at least, she enjoyed the special attention she received whenever she smiled, so she continued to do just so, enchanting the whole family day after day.

She wasn’t so happy when she came down with a tummy ache one morning, which had Taylor sitting with her for most of the day and all through the night, since any time they left her alone, however brief, she would start screaming again. If someone was with her, at least, they could cuddle her and offer some comfort.

“It’s alright, sweetie, it’s okay,” Taylor had spoken softly, repetitively throughout the day, whenever Rosie began to fuss again, her face screwed up in pain, with the whines to match. The hardest part was not knowing exactly what was wrong with her – Rosie couldn’t just tell them how she was feeling; they could only guess. With the input of two experienced mothers of two, they decided at first to wait it out to see if it got any worse, rather than rush her straight to a doctor. Hopefully keeping her hydrated and a healthy dose of coddling could help alleviate the pain she was in.

By the next morning, Rosie appeared to be in a better mood, in any case. Taylor wasn’t doing so well, on the other hand: when Andrea went to check on them when she got up, she found Taylor curled up on the rug on the floor beside Rosie’s cot, a pillow tucked under her head, at least. Unable to leave her daughter, Taylor had hardly slept through the night, and had made do where she could when Rosie had finally fallen asleep for a longer period of time.

Anne had also risen, and went to wake Harry so that he might help move Taylor somewhere more comfortable. For a moment, being gently awoken by his mum, Harry had no idea _where_ he was, or how old he was, though once he had blinked his way into consciousness, he was all too happy to oblige.

Seeing Taylor lying on her side like a jelly bean on the floor, though, Harry felt terribly guilty. He had told her that he would stay up with her, but she had forced him to go to bed, arguing that there was no sense in the both of them being dead tired. He should’ve still stayed with her regardless.

“Poor thing,” Anne sighed quietly as the three of them lingered in the doorway, watching over sleeping mother and child. “She didn’t want to leave her.”

“I don’t know if I can pick her up from there without disturbing her,” Harry admitted, scratching his bare arm as he considered it. From a couch, sure, he’d done that before, but not from the floor. He had an awful vision of dropping her in the process, or of his sweatpants getting caught and sliding down in front of both his own mother and his girlfriend’s, god, why didn’t he sleep in underwear, or at least put a shirt on first?

He didn’t want to just leave her there, though, either. It would be easier just to rouse her and get her to relocate herself, but there was a very good chance that she would refuse to go to bed, in case Rosie woke soon and needed her, and they all knew it.

Stepping over quietly, Harry checked on Rosie first, pressing the back of his hand against her pale forehead. She felt warm, but she always did when she slept, as if a small furnace lit within her whenever she drifted off.

“I think she’s okay,” Harry whispered over to the mums in the doorway. He stroked his forefinger down the baby’s cheek, hoping that he was right.

He crouched down on the other side of Taylor, so that he was at her back. She hadn’t stirred at all while they had been around, but when he rested one hand on her shoulder and he carefully slid his other arm under her neck, she began to draw close to consciousness.

“Tay, love,” Harry spoke so softly, trying only to rise her enough to make moving her easier. “Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?” Taylor hummed, rolling back toward him as if they were in bed together. Half asleep, she mumbled, “Rosie?”

“Rosie’s fine, love,” he quietly assured her. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

So tired as she was, Harry didn’t think she was fully aware of what she was doing when he helped guide her upright, enough so that he could scoop her up in his arms, suppressing a grunt at the effort. She was rather a lot heavier than the child he had gotten used to carrying.

He took her carefully through the door, passing both thankful mums who appreciated his Prince Charming gesture, and carried her to bed, Taylor sighing involuntarily as soon as she was set down on something soft. It had him smiling gently to himself as he went to join her, cuddling up to her as she naturally resettled herself lying on her side.

“’S Rosie okay?” Taylor mumbled again, and he brushed her hair back from her face for her, pressing a light kiss to her temple.

“She’s okay, love. She’s still asleep.”

Taylor hummed again, set more at ease. “I should stay with her,” she added, though her voice was brimming with sleep, her eyes were still closed, and she made no move to get up.

“You need some proper sleep,” he told her gently, running his finger down her jaw, like he had done for Rosie. Taylor caught his hand when he reached her chin and held it instead against her chest, where he could feel her heartbeat.

“Stay with me.”

And Harry did, holding her close for comfort as they drifted back off to sleep together, their little girl resting soundly in the next room.

While Rosie was still fussy throughout the day, preferring to be with her mother, who was revived after a sleep in her own bed rather than the hard floor, she didn’t seem so upset after a good rest of her own. Harry deeply regretted volunteering to change one of her earlier nappies, the mere thought of it making his gorge rise again. It was no surprise she had been hurting, if _that_ was what she ended up producing. God, even after washing her and showering himself, he _still_ thought he could smell it.

“My clean little flower,” Taylor smiled down at Rosie once she was in fresh clothes, bopping the tip of her nose, and Harry scowled at her as if it were her fault he had kindly decided to change Rosie at her most disgusting moment.

It took another day for Taylor to be convinced that Rosie was actually okay. She was still reluctant to leave her for long – that was hardly new – but she didn’t feel she had to be at her side constantly. Even so, she wouldn’t go _far_ ; when their families suggested taking a trip out in the afternoon for some fresh air, Taylor had opted to sit this one out, in case Rosie were to fall ill again while they were out. Mostly, she just wanted a nap.

Harry stayed with her so she wouldn’t be all on her own in case something _did_ happen, and, like everyone else suspected, so they could have some alone time together. They greatly appreciated their families’ presence, but the one time they were really alone was at night when everyone else had gone to bed, and even then, their families were right down the hall, and next door was a baby who woke every few hours. Not the most romantic set up for a young couple.

They played with Rosie for a while, until she seemed to get tired of the few toys they had taken out for her. She wriggled on the blanket they had laid underneath her, staring up at her father sitting beside her, who had gone to grab a guitar and was now playing a gentle tune for her, carefully plucking at strings. On her opposite side, Taylor laid down on her side, content to listen and watch the soothing effect it had on their baby.

“I think she likes it,” Taylor commented softly, as Rosie couldn’t take her eyes off Harry, her pink lips slightly ajar. It was always like that whenever one of them brought out an instrument for her, like she was trying to figure out how they were making sounds out of the object they were holding.

“Sing for her, love,” Harry encouraged, glancing over at her with a gentle smile.

Taylor made it up on the spot, singing whatever came into her head, whether it made any sense altogether or not. It didn’t really matter _what_ she sang; Rosie responded most to the sound of her voice, always seeming to enjoy when she sang for her, which was often. Rosie turned her head towards her instead, and when Taylor sat up and scooped her up, she snuggled against her chest, comforted by the sound of her mother’s voice.

They played for her until she fell asleep in Taylor’s arms, her breathing slowing and her body warming. Taylor patted her back gently, smiling across at Harry with fondness.

“I like your free-styling,” he quietly teased, and she wrinkled her nose as the smile grew on his face.

“Shut up,” she replied without any sense of authority, lifting Rosie up into a more comfortable position. “ _She_ thought it was good. Or else we just bored her to sleep.”

“I hope not,” Harry said, suppressing laughter as he set the guitar aside. Not the best feedback for accomplished musicians. “Should we put her to bed?”

“Mmm. I wouldn’t mind a nap myself.”

Taylor pressed gentle kisses to the top of Rosie’s round head, which Harry matched with one to her cheek. The two of them giggled; it was times like this that they loved most, the simple pleasure of being with their little baby girl, playing with her and holding her and kissing her, giving her all the love she deserved and more.

They took Rosie up to the nursery and set her down in her cot without disturbing her. Arms around each other, they watched over her for a little while, making sure she wasn’t going to wake so soon.

When they seemed to be in the clear, they slipped out hand in hand into their bedroom, where Taylor _intended_ on having a bit of a sleep herself.

“You’re distracting me,” Taylor murmured after she had been lying down with her back to him for a few minutes without sleep seeming anywhere near at hand, despite her constant fatigue.

“I’m not doing anything,” Harry defended with a glance toward her, which was true: he was lying on his back beside her with a book in hand, having chosen to be quietly close to her while she got some rest. He wasn’t intentionally doing anything to try to prevent her from napping – his mere presence was enough. Taylor could sense the solidness of his body, the heat that it radiated, and while she found it an undeniable comfort, her mind currently didn’t want to stop thinking about it.

“Am I turning the pages too loudly?” Harry joked, making her laugh as he purposely let the next page drag across his t-shirt as he turned it, creating a scratching sound that would most certainly turn irritating if he kept it up.

“If you keep doing that, I swear–”

“Would you rather I did something else?” Returning his book to the nightstand, Harry rolled towards her and rested his hand on her waist, and with her eyes still closed, she arched her back involuntarily.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t I dare do what?” His small smirk was practically audible in his voice; it wasn’t entirely unexpected when he brushed her hair aside and kissed the top of her spine. The second she realised she wanted it, she knew her nap was going to be delayed.

Even still, Taylor weakly tried to protest, fooling neither of them with her smiles and giggles as Harry’s hands roamed and his lips found different spaces to kiss.

“I’m _napping_ ,” Taylor laughed as she rolled onto her back, the idea unbelievable as she rested her hand on his cheek and gave him a proper kiss.

Really, she felt better with Harry propping himself up on top of her, his lips on hers. It had been– god, she could hardly remember the last time they had last had the house (almost) all to themselves and they had taken advantage of it in bed.

_In bed_. Belatedly, with her fingers tangled in his hair and her tongue in his mouth, she realised what sort of message she was sending him. And it was _working_ – she could feel him hard through his shorts, not to mention the heat radiating between her own thighs.

As she gasped apart from his lips, Harry’s eyes opened to gaze down at her intently, confused. She didn’t _normally_ just stop abruptly; her cheeks reddened, unable to meet his eyes.

“Tay?” he whispered, the note of concern in his voice making her feel guiltier. He started to pull away from her. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, baby,” Taylor replied too quickly, reaching to give him another kiss. She sighed, though, as she leaned back, knowing it was too late to pretend she hadn’t made the intimate moment pass.

Harry slid off onto his side, still watching her, waiting for her to elaborate. Even with weeks of thinking time, she just didn’t know what to tell him.

“It’s not you,” she said weakly, and even she snorted at the classic line. It lightened the mood, at least.

“So what’s it about you, then?” Harry asked her with friendliness, as he took her hand and linked their fingers reassuringly, hoping that the less confrontational it seemed, the easier she would find it.

“I’m… different,” Taylor answered slowly, lightly biting down on her bottom lip. “I don’t… look the same as before.”

He smiled at her gently, which instantaneously eased her a bit. “I don’t expect you to look exactly the same after having a baby, love.”

“I know, but…” She hesitated, fidgeting a little. “I’m all… squishy.”

“ _Squishy?_ ” Harry repeated with a laugh he couldn’t help, immediately feeling guilty for it. While it made her blush again, she started to smile, and he didn’t feel so bad.

“I’m _squishy!_ ” Taylor maintained, able to giggle about it a little now that she said it aloud. It wasn’t entirely true: while she had gained a fair few pounds from having Rosie, her regular swims in the weeks since had helped begin to give hope that she could tone her body again. It was more how much she noticed the change in her body, that she wasn’t as thin as she had been just last year, that bothered her. Not that she thought she looked _bad_ for it, but… well, she couldn’t be sure what _he_ , or anyone else, would think.

“I’m not the same, Harry,” Taylor repeated, gentler.

Squeezing her hand, Harry paused for a moment, considering his words. “I’m not the same as when we were first together. Does that mean you’re not so attracted to me?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Taylor replied, and as soon as the words left her mouth, she realised his point. But he was _Harry_ – she couldn’t _not_ be attracted to him, even if she tried (which she had for a time, hopelessly).

“I’m bigger than I was then.”

“You were a teenager then – you’ve grown into a strong man now.”

“And you’ve grown into a strong woman with a beautiful daughter. Why should that be any different?”

_It’s not_. Taylor _knew_ that, but… _But_. There was always a but.

“You know I was attracted to you while you were pregnant,” he reminded her, and she cracked another smile.

“I don’t know _why_ ,” she chuckled, yet she could see it in his eyes now: he loved her, without exception. He always had.

“Because you’re always beautiful to me,” Harry told her softly, and when he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and stay that way, listening to him tell her kind words that he believed with all his heart. “I don’t want you to be afraid of showing yourself to me.”

“I’m not _afraid_ , I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

A little disappointedly, Harry pulled away then, only to shift so he could tug his t-shirt off over is head. There was nothing disappointing about _that_ : he was gorgeous, with his collection of tattoos standing out over his summer-tanned skin, the strong muscles of his arms emphasised as he moved to take off his shorts. Taylor couldn’t take her eyes off him, admiring him, for an absurd moment wanting to run her tongue down his bicep, over the tattoo of the ship she had watched him get done, and down the inside of his thighs, biting so he–

Taylor surreptitiously cleared her throat. It really _had_ been that long.

She let Harry help her out of her own clothes, after warning him first that the underwear she had on was nowhere close to being sexy. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he smiled, and, once she lay there for him in plain, mismatched underwear, he didn’t look at all disappointed.

“D’you like how you look?” Harry wondered, as he slid his hand down her waist, sending goose bumps rippling across her bare skin in his wake.

“Yes,” she admitted, after a moment. “I look…”

“Healthy,” he finished for her, smiling down. “You’ve still got this kind of healthy glow about you.”

“I don’t feel like I’m glowing _at all_.”

His smile grew as he leaned in to kiss her, and she matched him, resting her hand on his cheek. “I know what makes you glow,” he murmured suggestively, making her giggle against his lips as he kissed her again. After a moment, though, he thought to pull away, gently adding, “If you’re not ready…”

Slowly licking her lips, not intending to be teasing though she saw the way his eyes flicked down to linger on her mouth, Taylor barely had to think about it before whispering, “I want you.”

Much to her appreciation, Harry took it slowly. He kissed her eagerly, climbing back atop her, but he let her accustom herself back to the feeling of their bare skin touching again for a blissful while before he even considered doing anything else. As he began leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, she was once again thankful for having a man who actually understood the importance of a good lead up.

He shuffled down to kiss her all the way down to her stomach, pressing his lips all over. His breath was warm against her skin, and for that moment, she forgot that she hadn’t escaped pregnancy completely unscathed, a few small purply stretch marks decorating her stomach, despite her efforts to avoid them. They would fade with time, and Harry would still kiss over them, marks reminiscent of the sweet child they had together.

Taylor was reminded of Rosie when she arched her back to let him undo the clasp of her bra; a baby wasn’t the most romantic thing to be thinking of while her boyfriend admired her freed breasts, round and heavy. She held her breath as he cupped one, her heart racing.

“Oh,” Harry said airily, sounding surprised. It was harder than he had been expecting; he was always intrigued by the way the feel of her breasts changed throughout the day, the usual softness after she fed Rosie compared to the firmness when they filled with milk again. “D’you need to go feed her?”

“Not yet,” Taylor answered, releasing her breath in a sigh. “Just be gentle, please?”

“Of course,” Harry smiled at her truthfully. She was unsure how sensitive she was these days, and she dreaded the thought of any embarrassing developments, but as he softly pressed kisses over each of her breasts, she relaxed. It was just as it had always been.

He left her gasping as he slipped his hand down into her underwear and cupped her warmth. If he had any doubt over whether she was really into it, it was obliterated when he felt just how slick she was.

Taylor squirmed when he licked her nipple, the desperate sound she made one that she would rather forget. Of course, _Harry_ wouldn’t: he was grinning like the cat who got the cream.

“Can I go down on you?” he asked first, hopefully. “Please?”

As he was still working her deftly with his fingers, Taylor found it difficult to gather her sense to respond. “I don’t know how it looks now,” she blurted out self-consciously, and he laughed through his nose.

“If you think I care what it _looks_ like–”

They both laughed then, and he reached back up to kiss her lips fervently. He only pulled away again when she tugged his hand out of her underwear, giving him permission as she spoke lowly in his ear, “Didn’t you say something about where you wanted my thighs?”

With a deep sound in his throat, Harry was spurred on; he wasted no time in wriggling down and removing her panties, settling himself down between her legs. Again, Taylor hesitated over what giving birth had done to her, yet the thoughts melted from her mind as Harry kissed her thighs, hoisted them over his shoulders, and licked her from bottom to top.

Oh, god, had she missed this. Harry was always so _thorough_ , as if there was nothing else in the world he would rather be doing. It was likely so, as he took his time lapping his tongue, drawing leisurely strokes that sent her into a state of relaxation. At one point, when his strokes changed, she realised he was tracing the letters of his name against her, and she smiled down at him warmly, trying not to giggle.

“Leaving your mark?”

“Making sure you know you’re all mine,” Harry told her, his voice low and seductive, making her moan as he flicked his tongue teasingly over her tip, louder when he started sucking down.

“God, _Harry_ ,” Taylor whimpered, tangling her fingers in his hair as she rocked herself a little against his mouth, desperate for _more_ of him. There was nothing else _she_ would rather be doing, and when she finally let herself go, she felt a long overdue tingling bliss overcome every inch of her body.

Her arousal glistened wet around his mouth when he eventually pulled away, satisfied that he had sufficiently cleaned her up, her thighs limp either side of his head. Harry licked his lips as he sat up, looking thoroughly thrilled, and before she even had the chance to ask him to, he was taking off his underwear, his aching cock springing free.

As he moved back up her body, Taylor wrapped her hand around him, driving him crazy when she didn’t even _move_ it. She knew she had been frustrating him to no end in recent months, and she was both eager to please him and tempted to continue teasing him for as long as possible.

In the end, though, as Harry kissed her impatiently, when she could taste herself on his lips, it was her own arousal that won out. She squeezed him at the base, murmuring, “I need you,” urgently against his mouth, which had him kissing her harder.

“Take it slow, please,” she quickly added as she withdrew her hand, and as Harry smiled down at her wonderfully, Taylor realised that she hadn’t really needed to say it. Of course Harry would treat her right.

Unexpectedly, he moved his hand down between her legs again, circling his finger around her opening a few times before he sunk it in. He watched her carefully as he pumped it steadily in and out, adding another finger, making sure she really was ready first. The addition of his third had her groaning in some discomfort, and she locked her eyes on his, her heart pounding in anticipation.

“I didn’t say I needed your _fingers_ ,” she clarified, and the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

“Just checking you’re ready for me, love.” He kissed her again, keeping his hand still. “Though you did fit a _baby_ out, so–”

She wisely cut him off by swiftly leaning back in and catching his bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard, though not quite hard enough to draw blood. “You. _Now_ ,” she demanded when she let go, and a dimpled grin spread across his face.

“God, I’ve missed you.” Harry kissed her again eagerly, pulling his hand free, and when he replaced it with what they both really wanted, they both felt the universe shift underneath them.

Taylor gasped at the feeling of him sliding effortlessly inside of her, so much more _pleasant_ than her last experience of giving birth had been. Above her, Harry sighed deeply as he sunk himself all the way, resting his forehead against her shoulder as he took a few long, heavy breaths. For a second she thought, oh god, he couldn’t seriously have been so worked up that that was _it_ , but she could feel him long and solid and strong inside of her, and understood just why he needed a moment to catch his breath. It was the same reason why her toes had curled and her heart felt like it was about to burst out her chest.

Stroking his hair softly, Taylor whispered, “Okay?” after a moment of pinnacle silence, and she felt his laugh as an exhalation through his nose.

“D’you believe in soulmates?”

“Why?” she asked, a smile already lighting her face.

“’Cause you feel like everything I’ll ever need.”

Harry lifted his head then, his gaze radiating the love he felt for her, in every aspect of every moment. Delicately, he touched his lips to hers, and as their smiles blossomed together, so did their kiss.

Slow and passionate, they made love to each other, taking care of each other as they reacquainted themselves again. It wasn’t like their past times, where they had reunited for what would be one, maybe two nights at best – there was no longer any questions about whether it was the last time they would see each other again. This was _it_ , they were in it completely, and while there would be times where they would be apart for longer than they would like, they were always going to come back together. Always.

With soft moans and intense kisses, her fingers tangled in his hair, they united in their ultimate state of bliss. For a long few minutes after, they simply held each other, their heartbeats slowing back down to beat in sync.

Taylor stroked his hair slowly as his cheek rested against her chest, where he could hear the steady thump of her heart matching his own, making him smile gently to himself. “I believe,” she eventually answered him, her voice barely a whisper. “In soulmates. You’re my forever.”

And later, after they had made it more than clear that she was his and he was hers, Taylor got her nap, naked between the sheets, tired and sore in the best way – and with her man holding her close, not a single self-conscious thought left in her mind.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“ _Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear… One step, two steps, tickle you under there!_ ”

Taylor was filled with delight as Rosie smiled back up at her with a not quite giggle as she tickled her under her arm. She repeated the rhyme on her other side, tracing a circle on her tiny palm before stepping her finger once, twice up her arm and tickling her again. Wonderfully, Rosie gave her that same beautiful smile, and Taylor could not possibly think of a more adorable way to spend her day than with her special little girl.

They were alone, for a change. While her parents still visited regularly, they were no longer staying over all of the time, giving her and Harry a chance to figure things out on their own. Harry’s family had headed home recently, as well: Gemma, for a work opportunity, and Anne following suit soon after. Taylor got the feeling that she had been a bit uncomfortable, surrounded by the Swifts she was still really getting to know. Between her new motherhood-fogged brain, Taylor had done all she could to make Harry’s family feel welcome, and when they eventually had to leave, she felt good knowing that they parted closer than before, more like the family they had become.

With his upcoming tour, Harry was out of the house more often, having coerced his band into coming to Nashville for rehearsals. She had told him they could relocate somewhere more convenient for him for a few weeks – she wasn’t so apprehensive about taking Rosie travelling, now that she wasn’t quite so young – but Harry insisted on staying. He had helped set up someplace for his band to stay, and by all accounts, their rehearsals were going well; Taylor could see the excitement in each of their eyes whenever they stopped by for one of her enviable home cooked meals. Even she was excited for them to get on the road, through the longing to be a part of it.

She wasn’t nearly as jealous as she had feared she might be. They were still weeks off his first show, and Taylor was proud of him, more than anything else. Sure, there was a part of her that missed her life on the stage, but what she found she wanted more than anything else these days was time with her daughter. She felt no rush at all to pick back up her own music career.

Mostly, Taylor sung to Rosie now. She still wrote – she could never switch off that side of her, the one that made her space out suddenly as an idea came to her that she _had_ to write down or record – but it wasn’t her number one priority. All she wanted was to make a beautiful life for Rosalie.

Play time was getting more involved, as they helped Rosie develop. They had started lying her down on her tummy, picking out a few toys each time to set down in front of her, where they could play pretend with them, seeing what she liked most while she also developed her neck muscles as she had to lift her head to see. They did it for a little while each day, until Rosie would grow tired of it and want to be set down on her back again.

Taylor had flipped her over now, though was still playing with her on the blanket she had spread out in the lounge. Rather than beginning to upset her with any more tickling, she picked back up one of the toys, the one that was _her_ favourite: a small pink kitten stuffed toy, because of course Taylor’s baby had to have a toy that resembled a cat. And, no doubt her mother’s daughter, Rosie really seemed to like it, too.

Tiny hands reaching up for the soft animal, Taylor smiled, making the toy dance to and fro before she gave it to Rosie. The baby hummed, staring at it inquisitively, then holding it against her chest,  blinking up at Taylor contentedly. Not for the first time, Taylor wondered how she had gotten so lucky.

Inevitably, the toy slipped from Rosie’s grasp, and as it rolled to the side, Taylor tilted her head, smiling. “You don’t wanna play with Kitty anymore? Maybe you’ll like a cuddle instead – we’ll bring Kitty, so we don’t hurt her feelings.”

Carefully lifting her up, Taylor carried Rosie and her toy over to the couch, where she got settled with Rosie laying on her, her warm head snug against her chest. She continued to talk to her, in the sweet tone she always used with her, and when Rosie appeared to be slipping into sleepiness, she sung gently to her a lullaby to help send her off into kind dreams.

She stayed like that in the quiet for a while, her hand resting on Rosie’s back so that she couldn’t roll off and hurt herself, and to feel the reassuring rise and fall of her breath. Each one was soft with sleep and her little lungs, but it always came.

It was amazing, how delicate she was. Rosie’s porcelain skin was impossibly smooth, still unmarred by the world around her, and stroking over her arms, her cheeks, was almost irresistible. She still had deep blue eyes that they wondered whether might lighten over time like Harry’s had, lined with blonde lashes not quite so fair as the smooth dusting of hair on her head. And those adorable rosebud lips, so pink and soft… Taylor was filled with a delightful combination of awe and pride that she had made a child so _lovely_.

There was a strength to her delicacy, as well. Rosie relied completely on those around her to take care of her, but there were things she could survive on her own: cat scratches, being poked and prodded, getting injections (Taylor’s heart had twisted at her screams the first time she had gotten needles), falling ill. Her body could heal itself just like any other – though a nice cuddle went a long way to making her feel better in the meantime.

Taylor just hoped with all her heart that Rosalie was happy. In the warm, loving environment they provided her, she hoped that Rosie felt safe and as utterly adored as she truly was.

Truthfully, the safest she felt was with Taylor. Rosie could sense her mother in a way that was different to everyone else, could recognise and respond to the sound of her voice and the natural scent of her body the most. With Taylor there, she would always be taken care of.

So she had no trouble at all sleeping on her mother’s chest, comforted by the smell of milk so close to her, her small warm body a reassuring weight against Taylor’s. Occasionally, she would move a little, an arm or a foot, and Taylor wondered what it was she dreamed about.

When Harry later came home, letting himself in through the garage, he found the pair of them still like that, lying on the couch together with the TV turned on low so as not to disturb the sleeping child. Taylor smiled as soon as he appeared in the doorway, immediately abandoning the movie she had found to watch that she had already seen before anyway.

“Sorry I’m late back,” Harry spoke gently when he came to kneel down beside the couch, giving Rosie a kiss on the top of her head and Taylor one to her lips.

“It’s fine. How was rehearsal?”

“Good, yeah. ‘S coming along well – I hope, anyway.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” Taylor assured him with an honest smile, brightening more so as he kissed her again.

“I’d like you to come watch sometime, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course. I’d love to see how it’s going.”

Harry smiled, and lifted his hand to give Rosie a little pat, her nappy cushiony under his hand. “How long’s she been out?”

“A while now. We were playing, you know how that tires her out.”

“Everything tires her out,” he pointed out, and they laughed – he did rather have a point there. Gently, he fixed the hem of Rosie’s leggings, white with glittery gold circles, around her ankle, turning it back down to sit flat again. “What d’you want to do for tea?”

“I don’t know, but I hope she wakes up soon for hers, I’m starting to get sore here.”

“Here, lemme take her.”

Very carefully, Harry picked Rosie up off her chest and held her sleeping body against his own, the baby only making a tiny mumble at being shifted but otherwise remaining soundly asleep. Taylor stretched her back, watching fondly as he cuddled their daughter, stroking her soft hair and kissing the top of her head. That was one thing she missed while he was out; she tried not to think about what it was going to be like here without him.

It was as he cradled Rosie’s head with his left hand that she noticed something out of the ordinary. “What’s that?” she asked, though she recognised the reason for the plastic wrap around his wrist immediately. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

For a moment, she thought he was actually _blushing_. “’Her bassinet around here somewhere?”

“Over in the corner.”

Taylor’s eyes didn’t leave him as he got up to find it; she sat up and craned her head trying to get on the right angle to catch a glimpse of his new ink. He hadn’t _mentioned_ any interest in getting a new tattoo, but if it was a spur of the moment thing, maybe he wouldn’t. But surely he hadn’t just woken up this morning and decided to go after rehearsal – no, he would’ve had to have booked it in advance. So he hadn’t told her on purpose, then.

While she contemplated whether or not to be bothered by this (she was more curious, really), Harry set Rosie down comfortably and moved the bassinet closer, leaving it near the end of the couch in case they were needed. He actually looked _nervous_ , but a sort of giddy kind, like he couldn’t wait to see what she would say. She had seen that look before; she curled her right hand involuntarily, feeling the smooth metal of her promise ring.

Once he sat down to her left, Harry let her take his arm, turning it over to show his wrist. The thing with Harry’s choice of tattoos was that it was impossible to know what to expect next – but what Taylor found really had not crossed her mind.

“It’s just lines,” she stated, somewhat let down by the two simple rows, the first just a line and the second a line with a dot on either side, now marking his wrist, ringed red from their freshness. Harry smiled, keeping quiet, waiting for the penny to drop. It took her a moment, but it soon clicked. “Oh! Is that–?”

“Morse code,” Harry confirmed, glancing up at her face as she carefully traced a fingertip underneath the marking. Did she like it?

“What does it mean?” she asked, and he followed the line of her finger with his own, just under the second line.

“This one’s an ‘R’.”

“Oh,” Taylor sighed, her voice light as a smile instantly appeared on her face. “That’s really sweet, Harry.”

“I’ve been wanting to get something for her,” he smiled back, shrugging a little. “I wasn’t sure. I’ve already got a rose.”

“I love your rose.” Running her hand up to stroke the rose tattoo on his forearm, Taylor leaned against him comfortably. “The Morse code’s very sentimental, though. Like she’s what saves you,” she added, and he hummed softly. “Is that why you got it there?”

“That, and so I can see it a lot,” he admitted, making her smile in amusement. With his odd collection of tattoos all over the place, yes, it was rather a nice thought for his dedication to his daughter to be someplace he actually showed off.

Belatedly, she thought to ask, “What about the other one? If that’s an ‘R’…”

“Um,” he laughed a little nervously. “That’s a ‘T’.”

And that was when Taylor’s face flushed a pretty pink, her smiling lips unable to find words in her surprise.

“Oh,” was all she eventually managed, airy and a little giggly. Harry felt rather similar.

“D’you like it?”

“I don’t know what to say. I mean, _yes_ – no one’s gotten a tattoo for me before, I’m… surprised.”

“That was the point,” Harry laughed, putting his other arm around her, and kissing her on the cheek. “I wanted something special for the both of you. If you don’t like it–”

“I love it, don’t you dare cover it up,” Taylor quickly cut in adamantly, and as he gave her a dimpled grin, she cupped his face and kissed him with a sudden intensity that he instantly melted into.

Her thank you ended up with her sitting on his lap, straddling him with his arms around her as their kisses lasted long. That was another benefit of having more space to themselves: they didn’t have to worry about being walked in on, which, since they had started sleeping together again, was a very real possibility.

They were careful, of course – they always had been. It was mostly at night in the privacy of their own bedroom, but there were… _other_ occasions where they had taken more of a risk in getting frisky. The incident on the stairs, for one, when they had decided to mix things up while they were home alone, only to hear her parents return from a quick trip to the supermarket. Harry had nearly fallen flat on his face on their race up the remaining steps and into their bedroom with his pants around his ankles, and Taylor’s laughter as she spread herself on the edge of the bed had ceased abruptly with her hand clamping over her mouth when she had very nearly screamed as he quickly finished them off with pounding thrusts that had left her both satisfied and craving more. It had reminded her of before, and she was thrilled to find that while things had changed with the coming of Rosie, their intimacy didn’t necessarily have to.

She was feeling better for it, in any case. Being able to curl up with her boyfriend at the end of a long day and have him please her in any way she wanted did wonders to improve her overall mood.

Taylor pulled away from him now, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she looked at her own bare wrist, rubbing a thumb over the visible veins. Of course, Harry could tell what she was thinking, and he circled his hand over her back smoothly.

“You don’t have to,” Harry assured her gently; he knew how she felt about getting tattooed – or rather, how her parents felt about it – and he wouldn’t as her to get one just for him.

“But I like yours,” she said, grabbing hold of his arm again and holding it up so she could have another look. A neat and subtle ‘T’ and ‘R’ – gosh, she really loved him. “It’d hurt a lot, wouldn’t it?”

Harry nodded; he didn’t need to tell her that he would go with her, if it was what she really wanted.

“But you’re my lifeline,” Taylor smiled at him bashfully, smoothing her thumb over the blue veins in his wrist. She tilted her head and kissed him again, lighter this time, and he squeezed her hip affectionately.

“We could always get you something else. Not a bracelet – it’ll get in the way of your playing – but maybe, like, a locket? If you’d like?”

Smiling, she nodded a little, wondering just how long he had been considering all this. “Will you pick one out for me?”

“If you’d like me to,” Harry smiled, and he kissed her again, thankful that she liked his idea, that he hadn’t made a mistake with his new tattoo. He didn’t _normally_ get them for anyone else, for obvious reasons, but there was no questioning his infatuation for Taylor and for Rosie. He wouldn’t regret a thing.

They kissed a little while longer, until Taylor pulled away to comment on his tattoo placing, “You’ve left a lot of room under here.”

“For all the kids we’re gonna have,” Harry explained, making them both laugh, kissing wonderfully until they heard a small whine come from the nearby bassinet, the timing leaving them in giggles again.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“ _Oh… oh, yeah… there… harder… ugh, that’s perfect, baby, just like that…_ ”

The last thing Austin wanted to do was step through that door. He wanted to turn around, shove his headphones in loud, and get the hell away from whatever god awful thing was happening inside that room. He could not seriously be hearing his sister having sex right now. They hadn’t even shut the door properly!

But he had to knock. They had plans for the day, he had to knock. God, he really, really did not want to knock.

Summoning up as much assertiveness as he could, Austin rapped his knuckles against the door to Taylor and Harry’s room. He was fully expecting a terribly awkward dead silence to follow, and was thoroughly taken aback when he heard his sister call out for him to come in.

“I don’t think I want to,” he called back, hearing her laughter in reply.

“Just come in, silly.”

Cautiously pushing the door open, Austin stepped through slowly, anticipating the need to burn his eyeballs shortly after. What he found was, thank god, not as horrifying as he had been expecting, but he still rather could’ve done without seeing anyone sitting between his sister’s legs and giving her a massage. At least they had all their clothes on.

“You can stop looking like you’d rather die on the spot,” Taylor teased him, as she lifted her head to look over her shoulder at him. She was lying on her stomach, evidently enjoying the back massage she had swayed Harry into giving her. “My back hurts, it’s perfectly innocent.”

“It doesn’t _sound_ it.”

“Oh, you should hear her when she’s not being innocent,” Harry countered in a low tone, giggling ridiculously as Taylor swiftly reached back to smack his arm.

“Don’t listen to him.”

“I think _I_ would kn– _oww!_ ”

Taylor smirked after kicking him in the back with her heel, not regretting a single thing. It was obvious just how comfortable they were together, and while it was nice to see them happy, it really wasn’t necessary to be privy to how far that comfort extended.

“Are you guys ready to go soon?” Austin asked, wisely diverting the conversation to the real reason he was there before he learnt anything untoward he would never be able to forget.

“Sure. I just have to change Rosie and finish packing my bags, then we’re good to go.”

The four of them were heading out together, Austin kindly lending them his photographic skills to give them their first proper family portraits. He had done the same while she was pregnant; while Harry had taken many photos of her, Austin had given them the chance to have professional-looking pictures of the two of them together, capturing them in a more personal light than a stranger could’ve. They were heading to the same spot today, a trip out into the countryside, to fields they would have all to themselves for as long as the sunlight graced them.

It was the longest car trip Rosie had been on so far, and Taylor prayed that she wasn’t going to fuss through it – or through their photo shoot, for that matter. She decided to sit in the backseat with her, while the boys took the front, Austin at the wheel, just in case she had any emergency on the way.

Taylor had dressed Rosie up nicely for the occasion. Giving her a bath first, she had picked out a white dress with a silver tutu, with matching glittery shoes (god, she loved all the tiny little baby shoes!). Just in case it got dirty at some point, she made sure to pack a back up dress along with all her usual baby essentials.

They tried to take Rosie out regularly, so she got used to the world outside their home. It started with walks around the block, while Taylor got accustomed to getting out again herself, and had grown to trips to the park, out to cafes for lunch or restaurants for dinner. They had been spotted, of course, though it was mostly just a few tweets here and here saying they had been to such and such a place together, with only the odd blurry photo as proof. That was one thing Taylor appreciated greatly about Nashville: people respected privacy. They weren’t hounded by paparazzi, nor constantly photographed by strangers on the street. For the most part, they were generally left alone like ordinary people; Harry really realised just why Taylor had wanted to remain here all this time.

Even while keeping a low profile, naturally people were still talking about them. There had been much speculation since June, rumours and theories thrown around all over the internet. As she had always expected, Taylor was ridiculed for getting pregnant while Harry was left relatively unscathed. Apparently, it was adorable that _he_ had a baby, but with _her?_ For the sake of her own sanity, she just could not read any of it.

_They’re just jealous_ , she tried to remind herself, whenever she unfortunately stumbled upon a nasty comment when she did quietly go on social media. It wasn’t the easiest to believe, but for every shitty criticism out there, she could find a kinder note from one of her fans. At least she still had some of those.

One post had Harry laughing when she passed her phone up to him during their car ride, something about the musical antics that surely went on in a house with the two of them together. It was certainly true: they had the radio turned up right now, the three of them singing along on their way, Rosie still somehow sleeping soundly in her capsule despite the enthusiastic noise around her.

“You did _not_ just like that!” Taylor exclaimed as she leaned forward in her seat and saw clearly the love heart at the bottom of the Tumblr post now coloured red. “I was lurking! I can’t be lurking if people know I’m online, that defeats the purpose of lurking!”

“Well I don’t know how this app works, do I?” Harry replied with a cheeky smile, as if she had never shown it to him before.

“Gimme my phone back.”

“No, I want a turn.”

“Harry!”

He slunk against the car door, giggling as he held her phone out of her reach. Desperately, she tried to stretch her arm around to grab it back; not that she didn’t trust him, but– oh god, he was grinning like an idiot, what was he _doing?_

“I’m _lurking_ ,” Harry teased, when she _had_ to ask; it was her account, after all. Her fans would all assume it was her.

“You don’t even know what that _means_.”

“Means people lose their shit, apparently. Is it always like this?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see it, can I?” Taylor replied dryly, and he frustratingly chuckled.

“Can I look for a bit? I won’t like any more, if you don’t want me to.”

“You can, just… don’t do anything I wouldn’t, okay?”

Trusting his word, Taylor gave him free reign over her account for a little while, settling back in her seat. Harry didn’t want to take too much advantage of it, mostly only reading what posts came up instead of liking too many more, reserving it for the ones he particularly enjoyed. It had been quite some time since he’d done anything similar on his own Twitter account, and he was reminded of how nice it felt to make a fan’s day by noticing them. No wonder Taylor still checked up on the app, despite her absence from the spotlight.

He gave her phone back before he used up her battery, giving her the chance to take a look at what he had acknowledged. Scrolling through, Taylor found herself smiling over a few – he had picked good ones – though she felt somewhat uneasy about her fans thinking it was _her_ who had hit like; she didn’t want to deceive their trust. Finding an appropriate post to reply to, one wishing her and her family well, Taylor happily typed out a response where she could mention Harry’s doing (typing his name out publicly was ridiculously exciting), and she read for a little bit longer, enjoying watching the sensational chaos they had created.

About three quarters through their journey, Rosie woke up, wiggling a little in her seat. The movement caught Taylor’s eye, and she welcomed her back awake, giving her her finger to hold onto, as well as her pink kitty toy for comfort. All was well, until they all quickly realised she wasn’t just sucking her dummy enthusiastically because she liked it, but because she was hungry; she spat it out and started wailing, drowning out the Imagine Dragons track playing on the radio.

“Hey, sweetie, give mommy a minute,” Taylor spoke soothingly as she tried to pop the dummy back in Rosie’s mouth to quieten her, but she kept turning her head the other way, not intending to shut up until she got what she needed.

One handed, she was trying to untie the string bow at the back of her neck that fixed her dress in place – god, _why_ had she decided to wear something that she couldn’t just pull down to feed Rosie – and Harry thankfully twisted around to reach into the back, taking the dummy from her and trying to settle Rosie while she got herself sorted. Rosie still screamed, and started to kick her legs impatiently, but at least she wasn’t doing it directly _at_ Taylor anymore.

“Do you want me to pull over?” Austin asked, apprehensively glancing at the action in his mirror. He really was not used to driving a baby around.

“If you promise not to crash the car, we’ll be fine,” Taylor told him, though he wasn’t exactly filled with confidence as she pushed her sleeve off her shoulder and undid one of the front clasps of her nursing bra. “C’mere, sweetie, mommy’s got you.”

Austin was most disconcerted as Taylor unbuckled Rosie from her capsule and brought her to her breast, the baby’s cries immediately ceasing. It was all very modest – he couldn’t _see_ anything, with Rosie’s head supported by Taylor’s hand, her hair falling over her as well – but knowing that there was an unrestrained baby in his car threw him off. He was a good driver, and they weren’t facing much traffic, but, god, he did _not_ want now to be the one time he got in an accident.

“Babe, can you reach my bag?” she asked Harry, who was still twisted back to watch them, making sure they were okay. “I need the towel, I don’t want her spitting up on this dress.”

Harry reached the bag sitting on the floor of the seat behind Austin’s much easier than Taylor was able to manoeuvre her dress to feed Rosie in the first place; when she wanted to switch sides, she had to shimmy the other sleeve of her dress down, thankfully managing to unhook her other clasp and get Rosie easily settled to suckling again. It didn’t occur to her that someone could actually take a photo of her _in_ the car, if they happened to notice her, but did it really matter? It was perfectly natural.

“You alright?” Harry checked, once she draped the small cloth over her shoulder to burp Rosie. Her dress had fallen below her bust, and while she wouldn’t mind at home, he wasn’t sure how she felt about it while they were out. The few times Rosie had gotten hungry while they were in public before, she had taken her into the privacy of the women’s bathroom.

“We’re okay,” Taylor smiled at him, gently patting Rosie’s back. She glanced back at her baby, rested her fuzzy head against her chest. “You have to get hungry at inconvenient times, don’t you, baby? That’s my girl; let’s get you strapped back in. We’re nearly there.”

Kissing her cheek, Taylor carefully stretched over to fix Rosie back in her baby seat, making sure she was safely buckled in before she even considered neatening up her own appearance. Adjusting her bra, tugging her sleeves back up properly, and retying the bow at the top of her spine, she was easily as good as new, feeling rather pleased with herself for managing to nurse on the go without causing anyone else any inconvenience.

Going down some back roads, they eventually found a safe place to park, eager to get out and stretch their legs. The last time they had been out here had been in spring, and now in early September, the leaves were hinting at their approaching colour change as the season began to shift. Taylor would’ve quite liked to have waited until autumn was in full swing, with fallen leaves of reds and oranges, but Harry would be departing soon, and it would be long gone by the time he got back for good.

She knew he had been asked about extending his tour into next year, and for now, he had turned it down. But once he got on stage, was reminded of the thrill of performing… She was trying not to think about how it might be if he did decide to spend longer away from home.

For now, Taylor was thankful for the time she had with him – something very easy to be, when she was regularly on the receiving end of Harry’s radiant smiles.

Rosie got a fun little ride as they wandered off in search of a good background, strapped into a harness against Harry’s chest. At first, Taylor had thought he was joking when he said he wanted to get a baby harness, a helpful hands-free alternative to carrying the child, but of course he hadn’t been – and while she giggled whenever he put it on and Rosie looked wide-eyed around at her new view, held upright against his chest, she had to admit, he kind of rocked it.

“ _Rosie_ ,” Taylor sang brightly as they went along, holding her phone up towards her and Harry as she walked a few paces to their side. It got Harry to smile at her for her video, but Rosie was distracted by all the new senses outside, her little feet swinging with each of his steps. She kept turning her head, undecided on just where to look, and had them all _aww_ -ing when she did an adorable little sneeze.

“ _Bless_ you, baby!” Taylor giggled, and Harry kissed the top of Rosie’s head, taking a tissue out his back pocket and wiping under her nose for her. Simple as it was, Taylor loved watching him doing anything parental.

“Hope she doesn’t end up getting hay fever,” Harry commented, as he folded the tissue back up. “She seems fine with the cats, at least.”

“The only problem she has with the cats is that they’re bigger than her and she thinks they’re just giant moving toys.”

They were trying to teach her early how to interact with the cats, guiding her hand in how to pat them gently so she would, hopefully, understand that they were animals who could hurt her if she didn’t treat them kindly, not like her inanimate toys. It was _sort of_ working… They generally tried to keep the cats away from her, just to be on the safe side.

Still, once they had let Olivia sniff Rosie while she was lying down on her blanket, so that they were used to each other, and while the cat didn’t harm her, Olivia had started licking Rosie’s soft short hair, light like her own, which had really taken them by surprise.

“ _She’s grooming her_ ,” Harry had teased, reminiscent of his own experience of being licked by a sandpaper tongue, which had left the both of them laughing.

Rosie seemed to be perfectly fine, just like all the other times they had taken her out so far. She was generally well behaved when they started posing for pictures, Austin directing the three of them together in amongst their natural surroundings. The sun was shining warmly, the air was fresh, and together they felt at peace in the soothing sounds of nature, no trace of another soul nearby.

They had been approached by a handful of magazines about cover shoots and exclusives, each wanting to take the coveted title of being the first to shoot Taylor Swift and Harry Styles together, with or without their child, but naturally they had declined each offer. Not that they didn’t believe they would be working with talented teams, but because it just wasn’t _them_. They weren’t interested in that kind of attention, and Taylor was tired of having all her words twisted, in any case. She couldn’t even imagine doing another interview at this point in her life.

It was so much more enjoyable working with family, someone they knew and trusted – and just for _fun_. They didn’t have to focus on winning shots, or everything being perfect, because it _wouldn’t_ be, not with a baby who had no idea what was going on and two parents who weren’t all that serious. With no teams of people hovering around them, they could let go and truly be themselves.

Taylor danced around in a warm toned paisley print dress, perfectly suited to an autumn aesthetic. Her hair was loose and long and wavy, and with natural make-up, she was beautiful without really trying. Watching her be photographed with Rosie, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her, filled with such a tenderness for how lucky he really had gotten.

He had dressed up for the occasion too, in skinny jeans and a subtle floral printed button down, his favourite pair of tan Chelsea boots to match. His freshly washed hair was a little fluffier than he had been hoping for, not that _she_ minded: in the morning, Taylor had ran her hands all through it, giggling, and when she watched him have some pictures taken and a stray lock fell handsomely on his forehead, she smiled to herself, thinking what a charming young man he had become.

“Wait a sec,” Harry said, when they stood underneath an old tree together, the branches dappling the light. Delicately, he adjusted the chain round her neck, sliding the clasp back to hide at the back of her neck, smiling at her kindly. They weren’t expecting Austin to still photograph them at the time, but then again, he had been sneaking candids the whole time; the best photos often weren’t staged.

They had packed Taylor’s Polaroid camera as well, and Harry pulled it out to snap a picture of the locket she was wearing. Taylor couldn’t help smiling, with a little roll of her eyes; he seemed rather proud to have found another way to mark her as his.

The locket was silver, a small oval hanging from a thin chain. The surface had a border of the tiniest intricate flowers, while in the centre a calligraphic ‘H’ had been engraved. On the inside, he had somehow managed to fit a miniature picture of him and Rosie, along with a small lock of Rosie’s hair, which he had carefully cut from above the nape of her neck, barely noticeable. It curled, and he kept it held together with a tie of thin white ribbon.

When he had given it to her, shortly after getting his new tattoos, Taylor had nearly cried. He had been afraid she might not like it, wouldn’t be comfortable wearing his initial around her neck for all to see (she had worn one of his monogrammed shirts before, but wandering around an apartment with nothing underneath the black silk after a steamy night together really wasn’t the same thing), but Taylor loved it. “ _I’ll wear it every single day_ ,” she had promised, kissing him so profusely that not believing her was unthinkable.

They took a break for lunch, finding a nice patch of grass to spread out the picnic they had packed. Lying Rosie on her tummy with her stuffed toy, she fell asleep after not all that long, her cheek pressed against the checked blanket underneath them.

“It’s hard work being _that_ cute,” Taylor smiled affectionately, gently rubbing Rosie’s back.

Baby sleeping longer than their lunch of sandwiches and fruit, the three of them stayed chatting amiably for a while. They got along easily; it wasn’t uncomfortable sitting with her brother and her boyfriend, like it had been occasionally with past loves. Taylor couldn’t imagine doing any of this with anyone other than Harry, not anymore.

She couldn’t imagine slipping off her shoes and dancing barefoot on the grass with anyone else watching on. Taylor skipped and twirled, laughing loud and infectious when Harry came running up and swept her off her feet, taking her by surprise. From the blanket, Austin snapped some more shots of them, while keeping an eye on his sleeping niece.

One of their favourite photos came later in the day, when Rosie had woken up and was content again after being changed and fed. Taylor was holding her up in a sitting position, and by pure chance, they were graced with an adorable set up.

“She’s got a ladybird on her nose!” Taylor exclaimed, face lighting up in delight as she noticed the little red spotted bug resting on the tip of Rosie’s nose. “Quick, quick, before it flies off!”

The ladybird departed soon after, when a small fist started coming its way, Rosie not all that fond of the odd tickling sensation. Austin managed to catch it with his camera, though, and Taylor already wanted to get it framed.

The other they especially loved was one of the three of them, Rosie held between them. Taylor was kissing her cheek on one side and Harry on the other, while Rosie stared directly at Austin, her eyes open wide and her rosy lips parted, looking completely innocent and, admittedly, a tad surprised. _What’s happening?_ was an expression Rosie donned in many cases, but it was that one that was undoubtedly the most fitting.

“You know what?” Austin commented, when he scanned trough some shots on the LCD screen, checking how they were turning out. “You’re all way too photogenic for this.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Weddings always brought upon an overwhelming sense of love. For some, it was reminiscing of weddings of their own, others recalling past flames, and admiring the love they saw between the friends and family they knew – and of course, the bride and groom. For Harry, he was filled with the urge to make this pure kind of happiness happen for himself.

He had been to a few weddings before – his mum’s wedding to his stepdad he remembered vividly. He had been nineteen at the time and had been appointed best man, a task which he had taken very seriously, wanting to do right by his mum and the new love she had found. The difference with _this_ wedding was that, while he hadn’t known the couple long, and hardly knew anyone in attendance, he was there with the only woman to ever ignite that feeling of an everlasting bond – and their two-and-a-half-month-old baby.

Harry was taking care of Rosie, while Taylor joined the joyous group of women getting ready for Abigail and Matt’s wedding. The travel to Massachusetts had put Rosie in a bit of a mood, her ears hurting on her first flight and filling neither parent with confidence. She fussed grumpily until she finally fell asleep in their hotel room, and thankfully recovered by the morning of the wedding.

They had found her the perfect little dress just in time, from a boutique specialising in young children’s occasion wear. The problem they had was deciding on just one from the adorable range – lace, flowers, bows, tulle, satin: there was just so much to choose from. A shop assistant had watched on with intrigue as they tried to narrow down their options, all the while Rosie laid in her pram paying very little attention to anything other than the giraffe toy she had taken a fancy to. Eventually, after trying on a couple in the change room, they had decided on a pastel pink dress with a layer of delicate lace, a ribbon tied in a bow around her middle. Of course, they had had to get her a pair of matching shoes, with a pair of white frilly socks to make them more comfortable. God, baby shopping was fun.

Naturally, Rosie attracted compliments whenever anyone got a good look at her. Harry smiled and offered polite thanks each time, as he hung around with her companionably, keeping in Taylor’s vicinity in case Rosie needed her. Armed with their baby bag, he was confident he could handle almost anything; he had promised Taylor that there would be no crying coming from her during the wedding proceedings.

It wasn’t a promise that was entirely up to him, however, and Taylor still had her concerns that her baby was going to disrupt the wedding of one of her oldest friends. She felt as if she had caused enough drama over the last year, with her emotional outpourings and the delay of the fitting of her bridesmaid’s dress, without having her young baby wailing during the vows.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Abigail had reassured her, cupping her face and smiling with an excitement that had been building for months. “I’m just so happy you’re here with me.”

Abigail looked like a princess, deserving nothing less for her big day. In the gorgeous strapless taffeta gown, very similar to the one they had eyed dreamily in the glossy pages of the magazines, her red hair done up elaborately, she looked like she belonged in a magazine herself – and Taylor could hardly stop gushing over her, glowing with an admiration and pride that that was her best friend.

_Maybe we’ll be planning your wedding next._ Seeing the warmth that filled the large room they were collected in, everyone buzzing with joy as dresses were adjusted and hair was fixed, Taylor hoped that maybe that would really come true.

She was in the middle of a conversation with a little girl who was telling her about her pet bunny – and had she ever had a bunny before? Because bunnies were so fun! – when she caught sight of Harry again, the first time in a while, and her stomach fluttered as if they were new lovers who had never seen each other dressed up before. God, he looked so handsome.

Harry had gone for something much subtler than some of his past looks, donning a charcoal suit with a pocket square the same berry colour as her dress. Finely tailored, paired with Gucci loafers, he looked terrible expensive (and smelled it too, his Tom Ford cologne never failing to make her swoon), softened by the baby he held up in his left arm. She could pick him out in an instant; it only took one sweeping glance for him to spot her, too, and immediately they lit up with tender smiles.

Wisely, Taylor chose not to mention that her pet cats would very likely eat a bunny for breakfast, and she farewelled the young flower girl to tend to her daughter, who she could tell wanted her, her fist balled in Harry’s suit jacket and a needy little frown on her face, since daddy, as he had once so eloquently put it, ‘ _doesn’t have tits_.’

“How’s my angel?” Taylor greeted sweetly, taking Rosie from Harry and kissing her on the cheek. Immediately, Rosie grabbed at her loose hair, clutching fistfuls with a death grip that spelled trouble if she decided to start pulling.

“Think she’s getting hungry,” Harry told her, as she carefully tried to release Rosie’s hands. “Thought she really ought to be fed before the ceremony, so she won’t be fussing through it.”

“She’ll probably sleep through it,” Taylor predicted, knowing how she tended to grow sleepy after some milk. “C’mon, baby, let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Somewhere quiet was difficult to find amongst the buzzing wedding party. Hand in hand (the simple gesture had Taylor’s insides fluttering, for reasons she couldn’t explain), they slipped out the main room into the corridor, searching for the bathrooms. There was no dedicated parents’ restroom, unfortunately, and the ladies’ room didn’t have any options for sitting down, and, while it looked clean, there was no way Taylor was going to sit on the _floor_ in her bridesmaid’s dress.

Bouncing Rosie in her arms to try to distract her, Taylor watched as Harry disappeared down the hall, telling her to wait where she was. He recalled seeing chairs in the foyer, all unoccupied when he slipped in to check. Glancing around and finding no one who looked official enough to be asking first, Harry sneakily just picked up one of the dining chairs beside a round end table, hurrying back up the hall before anyone noticed. It wasn’t like he was _stealing_ it – he would put it back after, like it had never left at all.

“Did you just steal a chair for me?” Taylor asked with an amused smile, touched with the disbelief she had felt upon spotting him coming back carrying a chair.

“I’m _borrowing_ it,” Harry emphasised, grinning at having found a solution. “D’you want me to come in with you?”

“Well I can’t carry _that_ and Rosie myself.”

The women’s bathroom was rather nice, Harry discovered when he pushed the door open with his backside and brought the borrowed chair in for her. The walls were cream with vintage light sconces that glowed a flattering light, perfect for selfies and no doubt utilised as such. The room was empty, though, when they came in, making them both feel more at ease. Taylor wasn’t fond of the thought of flashing anyone, and Harry really shouldn’t _be_ there.

It was a struggle to get out of her dress; Harry held Rosie while Taylor worked at the halter neck-style strap and gently tugged the bust of her dress down as much as she required. A nursing bra really hadn’t been an option to wear underneath, and she cursed under her breath as she unstuck one of her adhesive bra cups, feeling terribly exposed when she freed her breast. They were in the corner, where the sinks met the wall, and anyone could walk in at any minute.

Even so, Taylor sighed in relief when she bundled Rosie in her arms and her small mouth began suckling greedily. “Oh, that’s better.” Glancing up at Harry, she smiled, “I was getting a little tight there.”

“Is it really that bad?” Harry asked curiously, as he shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Think of it as like slowly filling up a water balloon,” she said, giggling at the funny expression he pulled at the analogy. She wondered what he was doing as he slid off his jacket, and as soon as he thoughtfully draped it around her shoulders instead, offering her some better coverage, she smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you.”

Harry returned the smile as he crouched down beside her, slipping a hand up under the soft material of her dress to rub the back of her calf fondly, nothing more. “Everything going okay?”

“Mhmm. Just some last minute touch ups.”

“You don’t need any of those.”

“I will after this.” Adjusting her hold on Rosie, she tilted her head as she smiled down at her daughter. “You’re getting so big, baby. You’ll be moving up to bottles real soon, huh?”

“I wouldn’t, if I were her,” Harry murmured cheekily under his breath, though loud enough for her to still hear – if she wasn’t in such a delicate position, she would’ve playfully kicked him for a remark like that, instead settling just for laughter.

They were both laughing when the door suddenly swung open, the sound ceasing as their heads turned to find a startled young woman staring back at them. The last thing a woman expected to find in a ladies’ room was a man, least of all Harry Styles. He gave her an apologetic sort of smile and dipped his head in acknowledgement as the girl connected the dots between his presence and Taylor sitting in a rogue chair breastfeeding. Taylor didn’t recognise her – she didn’t know all the guests either – and couldn’t help but wonder what was running through the girl’s mind; she couldn’t be more than twenty, and there was a good chance she was familiar with one of them.

She didn’t say anything on her way to slip into a stall, which was probably for the best. Taylor and Harry shared a Meaningful Couple Glance, biting their lips to stop from laughing again. There was something awfully funny about sitting in an otherwise silent room, hearing only the sounds of a baby suckling and someone having a wee.

It couldn’t have been favourable for the girl either, who tried hard not to meet their eyes when she went to wash her hands after. Side-eyeing them with the natural curiosity of the rich and famous was more her style; they acted perfectly normally, though Harry had the insane urge to blurt out something inappropriate, or simply start making out with Taylor. Of course, Taylor could read him very well by now, and could tell what kinds of god awful things he was thinking, and the both of them were left biting the insides of their cheeks to stop from doing _anything_.

“Oh my god,” Taylor giggled as soon as the girl had dried her hands and left, after what seemed an eternity. Harry loudly exhaled the breath he had been holding, immediately turning into an infectious laugh.

“Could’ve been worse,” he noted, grinning terribly with remembrance. Yes, he rather had a point there: the sneaking off they’d done in the past was certainly more scandalous. It wasn’t something Taylor did often, but there was always something about Harry that drew her to him and his wicked ideas; he gave her a sense of freedom in adventure. And okay, maybe not _all_ the ideas were his; he had rubbed off on her – in more ways than one. Her cheeks burned at the thought.

As soon as Rosie was full, detaching her mouth with a wet _pop_ , Taylor burped her – with the cloth he had pulled out the bag for her, so neither of their wedding clothes would end up the unfortunate recipient of any spit up – and handed her over to Harry so she could fix up her dress. Rosie gurgled up at him, and he held her out a little further away from him, lest she had decided that the prime time to bring back up any milk was actually in her father’s arms.

After a tentative few moments, Harry cradled Rosie back against his chest, watching as Taylor neatened herself back up, fastening everything back where it should be. He softened, as she checked herself in the mirror, smoothing the gentle fabric over her bust, making sure she was presentable again.

“You look beautiful, Taylor,” he complimented quietly, and her eyes moved to his, sparkling sweetly.

Admittedly, when she had _finally_ been able to attend a late fitting for her bridesmaid’s dress, Taylor had been very tentative. Running on a lack of sleep, she had been partly worried she was going to nod off if she was allowed to sit down at any point for more than one minute, the other half of her worried she was going to look like shit and ruin the entire thing. Her size was different, she nearly burst into tears when she struggled with the zip thanks to her ever-changing breasts, but the dressmakers had worked their magic and she actually looked _nice_. More than nice – and she felt it, too. She finally got to get all dressed up for something special for the first time since Rosie, and she felt _really_ good.

She had her locket on, too, the most perfect accessory on such a day. When he had given it to her, she had joked about him covering her in jewellery, and yet she hoped he wouldn't stop: there was an empty space on her left hand that, especially today, she couldn't help hoping he would one day fill.

“Thank you.” Stepping closer, she gave him a chaste kiss, giggling apart as she felt Rosie’s foot kick her middle as she was trapped between them. “Excuse me, missy, are you really trying to stop me from kissing daddy?” Affectionately, she rubbed her finger against the wriggly baby’s round cheek. “Doesn’t daddy look handsome? Don’t you wanna tell daddy how handsome he looks, hey?”

They both looked down at Rosie keenly, who simply drooled a little as she stared up at them with her big blue eyes.

“I don’t think she wants to.”

“Well _I_ do,” Taylor smiled back at him, cupping his face as she kissed him again, a little longer.

They didn’t stick around in the bathroom, in case someone else did happen to come in and they no longer had an obvious reason for all being there. Taylor took Rosie again while Harry slipped his jacket back on and picked up the chair, still managing to open the door for her kindly with his hands full.

“I told you daddy’s a gentleman,” Taylor murmured to Rosie fondly, who hummed a bit and grabbed another fistful of her hair. There was little use in trying to extract her prematurely; her hands weren’t sticky, at least.

Nobody questioned Harry when he returned the chair to its rightful place in the foyer; he walked off casually, assuming no one had missed its absence. He was sure they had gotten away with it unnoticed, until they entered the main room and someone called out from behind them. _It was just a chair, who gives a–_ The call was only from a photographer, who wanted to take a picture of the three of them. And, with an ease they felt within the company of friends, they happily obliged.

They had to part again, when the wedding ceremony was soon to commence. Taylor kissed the both of them, extra for Rosie’s squishy cheek, leaving a lipstick stain behind on her porcelain skin. She went off to help Abigail with her dress, holding the lengthy train up off the floor so it wouldn’t get dirty like any best friend would, while guests gathered in the vineyard.

The happy couple had been blessed with a nice day, not too hot from the freshly departed summer nor any hint of pending rain with the new season. A vineyard – Harry pondered the location, definitely a picturesque one at that. What would Taylor want? He imagined her as a castle sort of girl, maybe in a manicured garden somewhere quiet, shared with their closest family and friends. In England, maybe, though it would definitely have to be in late spring or early summer, if they wanted floral blooms and clear skies. Maybe, if they got lucky, they could have it all outdoors with lanterns strung up for when night fell, dancing in a magic garden like in a fairy tale.

Harry sat with a small, dreamy smile, bouncing Rosie a little in his arms. They were in a row around the middle, not being the most acquainted with the bride and groom, though still with a good view for when it all began. He had faded out in his daydreams, until he noticed Rosie had managed to grab onto the hem of her dress and was sucking on the edge of the lace freely.

“What’re you doing, love? That’s not very ladylike,” Harry jested, smiling as he gently pried the fabric out of her mouth. A spot further down the row, a woman chuckled lightly, and he glanced up at her in shared amusement. “’S her first big day. She’s not up on etiquette yet.”

“How old is she?” the woman smiled back at him warmly.

“Two months,” Harry proudly informed her. “Her name’s Rosalie.”

“Oh, that’s pretty. She’s a cutie, huh?”

While they waited around, they got to chatting; the brunette was an old friend of the groom that had flown in for the wedding who adored kids, ever eager to hear about his little girl. She scooted down to sit beside him, both of them rather glad to have someone nice to talk to.

With forethought, Harry popped a dummy in Rosie’s mouth to keep her quiet, giving her his hand to hold rather than a toy to play with in case she dropped it and got upset. He got her comfortable lying in his arms, hoping that she would get through the ceremony without any drama.

The ceremony was naturally beautiful, though Harry often found his eyes wandering to the line of bridesmaids at the front. Taylor was the tallest and stood out clearly to him, with a beatific look on her face as she watched her best friend marry the man she loved.

_She’s like no one else in the world._

_And she’s mine._

The thought lent a gentle warmth embracing his heart, ever since he had first truly realised that he was in love with her. That the young woman he had been in utter awe of as a teenager was actually his forever – because he knew he was never going to let her go again; he was going to be the sort of man she deserved.

He wasn’t aware of the light in his expression, not until after the “I do”’s and the newlyweds walked down the aisle together into the new chapter in their lives. He’d rather teared up during the vows, actually; the tissues packed for Rosie almost came in handy for him too.

Taylor saw it in him when they met back up after, smiling as she found Rosie asleep in his arms. “Hey,” she said gently, resting her hand on his shoulder, as guests around them began to buzz with admiration over the proceedings. “How long did she last?”

“About half way.” Harry smiled back at her, shrugging his opposite shoulder slightly. “Better than I thought.”

“She’s just like you, you know?” she accused with a voice brimming with affection. He personally thought Rosie looked a bit more like Taylor had when she was a baby, but her ability to fall asleep in even noisy situations, although common in babies, reminded the both of them of her father, who didn’t have a problem with sleeping in unexpected spots.

“Are you okay? You’re looking at me funny,” Taylor added, tilting her head sweetly to the side as she looked at him more closely. It made his smile widen wonderfully.

“Yeah, just…” Harry turned a little shyer, glancing down to readjust Rosie a bit more comfortably before meeting her eyes again, dimpling. “I love you, Taylor.”

Her cheeks turned a pretty pink, as if it were the first time she had heard him say those magic words to her. God, she was so beautiful.

Throughout the rest of the day, they stole kisses and secret smiles, young lovers swept up in the romantic cloud that followed the wedding party through the reception. Abigail and Matt received endless congratulations, barely able to wipe the smiles from their faces, or leave each other for long. Whenever they briefly parted, their eyes would seek each other out magnetically, the pure look of love they shared palpable in the air.

Taylor didn’t even know where to begin to explain how warm her heart felt for her best friend. From their teenage years, where they dreamed of forever with boys they went to school with, to now, when they had both found men who loved them for who they really were, the good and the bad – it was so much better than they ever imagined. It was _real_.

“I’m so happy for you, Abi,” Taylor let her know again, her arm around her shoulders as she stood beside her, catching her momentarily free from conversation with relatives and other friends.

“You’ve said that like ten times already,” Abigail stated, smiling joyously; she was radiating from all the congratulations she had received over the last few hours.

“And I still mean it.” Pulling away, Taylor grinned back at her. “Everything turned out perfectly. And Rosie didn’t cry! I never would’ve forgiven myself if she had.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if she had,” Abigail assured her for the last time. “Where is she?”

“Needed changing. Harry volunteered to do the honours.”

“That was nice of him.”

“I think he’s trying to make the most of it while he can. Though why he wants to do _that_ , I don’t know; it’s nobody’s favourite job.”

She was trying not to think about Harry not being there to take care of Rosie so lovingly all the time. The more time he spent with her lately was going to make their inevitable parting even harder.

“He’s a good dad. And he looks cute with her.”

Following her friend’s gaze, Taylor smiled as she saw Harry returning from the bathroom, holding Rosie in one arm, baby bag slung over his other shoulder. Rosie sat upright against his side, looking around with curiosity; she wasn’t used to being around so many people, and was both fascinated and a bit shy.

“Well if it isn’t our blushing bride,” Harry greeted warmly as he met up with the two women, grinning. “You look beautiful, Abigail.”

“Thank you.” Abigail dipped in a small curtsy, making the three of them laugh.

“Rosie missed a lot of the ceremony, I’m afraid. I think she liked it, though; she didn’t cry, at least.”

She did stare at Abigail now, though, wide eyed with interest. Abigail smiled at her, reaching out to stroke her hand over her soft hair, and Rosie made a happy little sound as she rested her head against Harry’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you give Auntie Abi a cuddle, sweetie?” Taylor suggested, and Harry handed Rosie over to Abigail, who cheerfully bounced her on her hip to try to get her to giggle.

“D’you think you’ll be giving Rosie a playmate anytime soon?” Harry asked her unexpected, and Taylor flashed him a horrified look.

“Harry!”

“They _are_ going on a honeymoon, aren’t they?”

“Oh my god – don’t listen to him,” Taylor turned back to Abigail, who merely seemed amused. “We’ll be here whenever you guys are ready. There’s no rush. _At all_.”

Once Abigail was swept away by another guest, Taylor slapped him on the arm for his silly question, rolling her eyes at his teasing reply that she was setting a violent example for their daughter, propped back up in Harry’s hold.

Rosie alternated between being held by either of her parents, the stimulation of the celebration keeping her awake and alert. She happily slapped her hands down on the table of the high chair over dinner, receiving smiles from those seated around her. She had just been fed herself, and was content to entertain herself with hitting the plastic table keeping her safely tucked into her chair and with the bright red teething ring Taylor had given her to suck on while she and Harry had the chance to eat.

It was different being at a party with a baby, but they managed it fine between them. Taylor was a bit disappointed she was one of the few adults missing out on having champagne, but there was nothing stopping her from having a slice of wedding cake – except for Rosie’s grabbing hands, when she was sat back on Taylor’s lap for dessert and apparently eager to shove some cake in her mouth herself. Taylor couldn’t really blame her: it _was_ really good cake.

Only during the couple’s dance did they wish for a moment alone, just the two of them. From Abigail and Matt’s first dance, to the couples who began to take to the dance floor for an intimate moment together, Taylor and Harry both wanted to join them out there, but there was no way they were just going to abandon Rosie, leaving her on her own in her high chair. With _what can you do_ smiles, they held hands instead, watching everyone else with admiration.

It was Abigail’s grandmother who approached them; Taylor had met her a few times over the years, and smiled as she came up to them.

“I’ll take her – you two should be out there,” she kindly offered, surprising the both of them.

“You don’t have to,” Taylor tried to tell her, but the older lady shook her head with insistence.

“Go on, go have a dance. I’ll watch over your little one.”

If it had been someone else, they might’ve disagreed for longer, but Taylor trusted Abigail’s grandmother, and knew Rosie would be okay with her. Besides, they really did want that dance.

With Rosie settled in a new lap, Harry took Taylor by the hand and led her out to a free space on the dance floor, smiling charmingly as they turned to face each other, standing close as they joined in a gentle sway.

Her heels made her a little taller than him, despite the small lift his own shoes gave him, and Harry had to look up a bit to gaze into her eyes. It didn’t take long for them to start giggling over it, able to read each other’s minds.

“Are you feeling short?” Taylor teased, lifting her chin a little higher with mock pretentiousness to make him laugh.

“Well now that you mention it.”

“Would you rather I took my shoes off?”

“No,” he smiled at her. “You’re perfect as you are.”

Taylor crinkled her nose, sliding her hand round to the back of his neck as she leaned in to kiss him, slowly and gently. He squeezed the hand he was still holding, his other warm and solid spread on her back.

“You’re so beautiful, Tay.”

“So are you – even with baby drool on your suit.”

They laughed, with a quick glance over at the culprit of the odd trickles of dribble on his suit jacket over the course of the day. Their daughter seemed content with the new lady entertaining her, giving them the ease to enjoy a few minutes to themselves.

“I really want this for us,” Harry admitted softly. “However you’d like it, just… I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The magic in the air had infected her, too – Taylor had imagined wearing white and meeting Harry at the end of the aisle plenty. The thought didn’t scare her anymore; it was more of a warm comfort to her heart, reminiscent of the arms that held her. She wanted to share this with him too, every fibre of her knowing it was true.

“Rosie’s going to be a beautiful flower girl,” Taylor gently noted, and a dimpled smile reappeared on Harry’s face.

“We’re going to have to have lots of roses, I think,” he anticipated, catching her giggle when he leaned in to kiss her again, soft and sweet.

Her heart was safe with him.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Their first goodbye was easy enough: while Harry’s tour started in San Francisco, his Nashville show was third on the list; he was home again in a matter of days. Not for long, though – they planned to make the very most of the limited time they had, before it was goodbye for longer.

Taylor’s parents were watching over Rosie for the night; she was rather young to be attending a loud concert in a small venue – and from what Taylor had seen in their rehearsal and in the videos she had been obsessively watching from his first shows online, it _was_ loud. And a lot of fun, by the looks of it; she was stoked to be seeing it in person so soon.

Only from the wings, though; he had scaled back the size of his shows for his first tour out on his own, wanting to work his way up to the larger crowds he had experienced in the band, to deserve it in his own right. While there was a chance Taylor would be able to dissolve into a thick crowd all focused on the heartthrob on stage, she didn’t particularly want to get mobbed if she was recognised.

There were a few photographs from the wedding that had surfaced online, most of those that featured Taylor showing her getting ready with the other girls. There was one of her and Harry, though, smiling at each other, which wouldn’t have mattered so much if Harry hadn’t been holding Rosie at the time. They were trying to keep her out of the spotlight as much as they could; of the few photos they and their families had posted of her, none showed her face. Fortuitously, neither did this one, as at the moment the picture had been taken, Rosie had turned her head to the side to look at someone else, so it only showed her in profile. A cute profile, with her delicate little dress to match, but a profile nonetheless.

Taylor had seen a few variations of the photo, some with filters, but it was the ones where she had been intentionally cropped out of the frame that made her laugh. They could cut her out of the photo, but they couldn’t cut her out of Harry’s life.

She did disappear on him for a few minutes while they were hanging around the venue before the show started. Accompanied by a security guard, just to be on the safe side, Taylor had slipped into the foyer, returning backstage shortly after with an unexpected bundle clutched in her arms, smiling at Harry’s quizzical look when they found each other again.

“Where’d you go?”

“I’m showing my support.” Unwrapping the items in her hands, she held up a black hoodie first, making him laugh when he realised it was one of his own merchandise, ‘Harry’ written on the front. “You like it?”

“You didn’t have to get it,” Harry grinned.

“I wanted to.” Hanging it over her shoulder, she showed him the t-shirt she had bought, white with ‘Treat People With Kindness’ on the front. “Do you think we could get a mini one made for Rosie? It’d be perfect.”

“’M sure we could work out something,” Harry agreed, tilting his head curiously. “Are you really going to wear those?”

“Well I didn’t buy them just to look at. Why, don’t you think they’ll look any good?”

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them, both smiling as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “They’ll never have looked better.”

There was a gagging sound from someone nearby as they kissed, making them smile against each other’s lips. They didn’t tend to be much for PDA, for obvious reasons, but in the relative privacy of backstage with a trusted team, well, did it really matter?

Harry’s band naturally welcomed Taylor’s presence – especially since she had brought along a container of homemade chocolate chip cookies, as well as a batch of brownies for variety, because pre-show sugar was essential, obviously. She still tried to keep out of the way – it wasn’t her show, after all – but she was always nearby, just as Harry wanted her.

Taylor had acted as their audience during soundcheck, complete with enthusiastic dancing to get them hyped for the incoming crowd. She stuck by Harry as he and the band got ready, watching on in fascination as Lou did his hair and make-up. It had been years since she had seen Lou – how wild to think that once she and Harry had taken a day out with Lou and her daughter, only to now have one of their own.

She wondered how Lou did it. Taking such a young child on lengthy tours – and with five rowdy young guys, at that – surely that was strenuous? Would it offer the same opportunities for development that a normal, stable life would? And, god, Taylor couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to Rosie just because she had wanted to tour again.

Not that that particularly mattered for the moment, anyway. They had already decided that Rosie was sitting this one out, and Taylor had no plans to get back to work anytime soon. For now, she was all about raising her daughter and supporting Harry.

They watched the opening band from side of stage, comfortably leaning into each other. Taylor had tied her new hoodie around her waist, and Harry’s hand rested just above it, touching the bare stripe of skin that showed between her high waisted jeans and long-sleeved crop top. She hadn’t worn a crop top since before she was pregnant, and Harry could hardly stop checking her out, subtle (well, sort of subtle) glances up and down her body. There was something else she hadn’t worn for quite some time that he didn’t know about yet, and she couldn’t wait to show him.

“Are you nervous?” Taylor asked lightly, when they slipped back into the dressing room after the first set. He was sipping on some water, keeping hydrated in preparation for his turn to take the stage.

Capping the lid back on, Harry smiled at her a little shyly. “Maybe a bit.”

“You’re going to be amazing, you know?” she smiled back at him, sitting down on the edge of the table by the wall, giving herself a break from the heels she wasn’t used to wearing anymore. “You’ve got this.”

“I seem to remember the last time I tried to give you a pep talk before a show, you told me it wasn’t necessary.”

“And I seem to remember you trying to motivate me with dirty talk instead.”

Both of them began to laugh; they were both aware that some of that would surely improve his current outlook. In truth, Harry _did_ know he had the ability to put on a good show, but he still got nervous. He _always_ got nervous, just before he was due on stage; he cared about his fans, always aimed to give them his very best every night. It was the least he could do, for all they had done for him.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to a little… _physical_ encouragement,” Harry stated, grinning as he made her laugh again.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” As he came over to her, Taylor opened her legs for him to stand between, his hands resting on her hips as he leaned in to kiss her, asking nothing more. She put her own on his chest, sliding them up to his shoulders as she pulled away. “You know how I feel about getting caught.”

“’M sure we could find somewhere.”

“Like our bedroom, when we get home,” she suggested, running a finger along his jawline teasingly. She pressed it to his lips when he looked like he might protest, and, just to mess with him a little more, she ducked her head to kiss his neck. Leaving behind light lipstick stains, she giggled deviously when she made him squirm by flicking her tongue against his earlobe.

“This doesn’t feel like waiting ‘til we get home,” he murmured, pink from her efforts.

“It’s an exclusive preview to the real thing later,” she spoke in a tone far too flirtatious for him right now, and if he didn’t know how stubborn she could be, and how little time they had, he would’ve tried to score himself an extended preview.

Harry settled for the few more kisses he received before showtime, finding reassuring confidence in holding Taylor’s hand on the way to the wings. His heart was racing and her palm was warm in his, her fingers intertwined with his delicate yet conveying a sense of strength. _I’ve got you_ , it said.

Taylor had helped him go through vocal warm ups (a benefit of dating another musician) and she neatened his ornate suit for him in the wings, doing what she could before it was all up to him. Her presence alone was enough, though it did admittedly give him an extra urge to do well to impress her.

“You sure you won't come up there with me?” Harry asked her one final time. The idea was as ridiculous to her as it had been the first time he had suggested it. “One little duet?”

“Babe, I'm not going to be booed off my boyfriend's stage,” Taylor replied in a light-hearted tone, though she was serious in thinking that was exactly what would happen if she made a surprise appearance on stage with him. With a different crowd, one that was there specifically for the both of them, sure she would jump right up there, but she wasn't going to step in where she wasn't wanted. “You're going to be amazing, and you know I'll be right here the entire time.”

The last thing she said to him before he hit the stage was certainly not what he had been expecting – for the better.

“What do you give to a sick lemon?” Taylor asked him quickly at the last minute, which made him look at her strangely.

“What?”

“Lemon aid.”

Taylor beamed, delighted with the dimpled grin that instantly lit up his face as he went off giggling stupidly. A girl who told him jokes to lighten his nerves – god, he was so, _so_ lucky.

Safely out of view, Taylor watched on from side of stage, still able to mostly see what was going on. She could _hear_ it, for sure; she was singing along (she knew every word) and dancing on the spot, not caring at all if anyone backstage saw her. That was _her_ boyfriend out there, and he was totally killing it.

If she was completely honest, there was still a small part of her that wasn’t thrilled by his release of ‘Kiwi’. There had expectedly been the assumption that it was written about her, even before they had announced the birth of their baby, more so after. Taylor believed him when he said that it wasn’t, and couldn’t fault him for including it on his album. It was a fan favourite, for good reason – tonight, it went off, and even she wasn’t immune to the rock beat, jumping around as if no one was watching. There _were_ a few crew members staring at her, but who cares? She had his baby! It was none of their business! And if she drove him crazy, well, he was into it! Still none of their business!

They were the two who knew the truth. She saw it in the songs he had written about her recently, and he in what she had written about him, and the few they had penned together. Maybe someday everyone else would be able to see it too.

Harry missed out on seeing the treat of Taylor touching over her body and swaying her hips to his upbeat songs, but when he eventually closed his set to a screaming crowd, there was nothing else he would’ve rather been met with than Taylor bouncing excitedly on her toes with an exhilarated smile on her face.

“I’m awfully sweaty,” he warned her as she opened her arms to envelop him in a hug, laughing as she exclaimed, “I don’t care!” and wrapped her arms around him tightly, sweat notwithstanding.

“You were incredible! I’m so proud of you, Harry!”

“Thank you,” he grinned, nodding at the nearby crew member who was holding up a bottle of water inquiringly.

Taylor pulled away just enough to lock him in a passionate kiss, not giving a single shit who saw her with her tongue in his mouth and his hands sliding down to her ass. The electric energy that pulsed off him from his time on stage instantly sparked in her, and she didn’t think she would mind if right then he took her any room with a lock, pressed her up against a wall, and put that energy to good use.

Instead, they were breathless as they prised themselves apart, settling with their promise of later.

Harry accepted the offered water bottle and chugged a generous amount, making the mistake of giving it to Taylor afterwards. He thought she might like some herself, not knowing whether she had been given anything during the show. He thought he was being _nice_ , but when she nonchalantly asked if he needed a cool down and he nodded yes, because performing got to be sweaty business, he was _so_ not expecting her to tip cold water down the back of his shirt.

As he swore loudly at the water running down the back of his neck, Taylor laughed, feeling wonderful for the fun night out. He slapped her ass in retaliation, which only succeeded in making her laugh harder, her cheeks pink with delight.

“Payback’s a bitch, you know?” Harry reminded her, grinning.

“If that’s what you call payback, I have to disagree,” Taylor informed him, and embracing the chance to let her hair down for a night, she threw the rest of the water down his front. It stuck his shirt to his chest, and as soon as she started hurrying off in her heels, he didn’t think twice about chasing after her.

They weaved through others backstage, until Harry ended it by grabbing her around the waist, grinning at her giggles as he pulled her towards him. “Cheeky,” he playfully accused, pushing her roughly against the wall and kissed her hard. And sure, okay, they had agreed on waiting for later, but there was really no harm in making out in the bustling hallway. It looked terribly rock & roll, after all.

They couldn’t hang around forever, though – they were reluctantly split when Harry was called to get changed and ready himself to go. His lips were red and plump as he sauntered off to his dressing room, Taylor’s the same as she headed for the bathroom instead. She fixed up her hair, her lipstick, and readjusted her bra; she was used to the support of her plain maternity bras, rather than the prettier one she had donned specially for the evening. She smirked in the mirror; if he was turned on by her already, just wait until they got home.

As long as Rosie would conveniently sleep for them, all would go to plan.

Taylor wasn’t aware of any fans being a part of the post-show plan, not until she left the bathroom and heard her name called out on her way to the dressing room. She hadn’t even noticed the two girls accompanied by a security guard further down the hall, but it was him who had called out to her; she recognised him from earlier. For a split second, she didn’t know whether to pretend she urgently had to be elsewhere – for all she knew, these weren’t among the nice girls – but her kindness got the better of her, and she headed over, offering a friendly smile.

“Hi! You guys okay?” Taylor greeted when she met up with them. Both girls looked starry eyed, and she was immediately relieved that she hadn’t just approached anyone who seemed to hate her.

“We don’t mean to bother you,” the girl on the left told her quickly. “We just saw you and…” She glanced nervously at her friend, blushing. “ _Andweloveyouandreallywantedtomeetyou_.”

Her heart warmed as she began to chat with the two girls. It had been a while since she had met any fans, really hadn’t been expecting to meet any _here_ , and she was filled with gratitude she recognised well.

She gladly took pictures with both of them, in part honoured that she was still relevant enough for anyone to want a photograph with her. The encounter was going to be put on social media anyway, she didn’t much see the reason in disappointing them by turning down a photo. It wasn’t like her presence there needed to be a secret.

Censoring herself didn’t occur to her when she noticed Harry, changed back into a t-shirt and jeans; she waved him over and called him “babe”, not even noticing the look the two girls shared. They had been kind to her, congratulating her on their baby, and she was sure they were genuine; she didn’t get the feeling they would make fun of her later.

Taylor stepped aside to let Harry talk to the girls for a few minutes – they had come for him, after all. He got pictures with them as well, thanked and hugged them both before they were escorted out by the security guard, to find one girl’s mom who worked at the venue and had managed to arrange to get them backstage in the first place. They looked back to find Harry holding Taylor’s hand, asking if she was ready to get going, and they could tell firsthand that what they had wasn’t just a lie.

Making sure they had all their things, they said their goodbyes and set on their way. They headed for Taylor’s parent’s place to pick up Rosie – they hadn’t received any panicked word, so they assumed she was doing okay. They certainly hoped so, at least; they didn’t like leaving her for long without either of them, and with the last few hours they’d had, the last thing they wanted was an unhappy or unwell baby to come home to.

Fortunately, when her father let them inside, they found Rosie content in Andrea’s arms. She was awake, playing with a soft toy that rattled, safer than a plastic one that she could upset herself with if she hit it on her head and still just as entertaining. As soon as she heard her mommy’s voice, she looked over, making a small sound as she shook the rattle in her hand.

“You’re up late,” Taylor smiled as she went to take her baby from her mom. Rosie easily accepted the shift; she always tended to settle best with Taylor. “How’s my angel? Have you been good for granny and grandpa?”

“She’s been perfect,” Andrea assured her, smiling at the two as Taylor kissed Rosie’s cheek. “She’s had a good sleep; she woke up maybe an hour ago.”

“Woke up to cuddles – aren’t you a lucky girl, hey?” Taylor smiled, bouncing Rosie in her arm so she hummed assent.

“How was the show?” her dad asked, and Harry’s face lit up again, shrugging a little modestly.

“It went good, I think.”

“He was _amazing_ ,” Taylor beamed, more than eager to praise him as the proud girlfriend she was. “They loved him – they were so _loud!_ You guys _have_ to come see him sometime, he’s incredible.”

She glanced at him at her side to find him a little flushed, and she wanted to kiss him all over his face.

“Here, baby, daddy deserves a big cuddle,” she said, giving Rosie over to Harry before she totally embarrassed him in front of her parents. She knew how much he wanted her parents to approve of him – and she _knew_ her parents liked him, despite his doubts. No matter how much she tried to reassure him of that, he would still try to impress them, to prove that he was worthy of being with their daughter. If she was honest, she was flattered he cared enough to keep trying.

They didn’t stay for long; Taylor didn’t want to keep her parents up, and they could tell that she and Harry were itching to get home. The electricity pulsing between them ever since he had gotten off stage was blinding.

Hugging goodbye, with extra thanks for the kind favour, they grabbed the baby bag on the way out and headed off. Taylor let Harry drive them home; he wouldn’t be doing much driving on tour, and besides, it gave her the chance to watch him candidly for a little while longer.

Rosie dozed off during the car ride, her cheek resting sweetly against her tiny fist as she napped in her capsule. When they parked in the garage, she stirred as Harry unbuckled her, whining as he picked her up and held her against his chest.

“Yeah, she’s–” Harry paused as Rosie tensed, her little face screwing up as she made a terrible smell, making Harry pull an unpleasant face of his own. “She just shat herself.”

“You can’t _say_ that,” Taylor had to laugh, secretly glad it wasn’t her who was currently holding the baby. “How many times have I told you not to swear in front of her?”

“She’s not old enough to start learning to talk.”

“I really do not want her first word to be ‘shit’. We have to set good examples, you know?”

Harry was admiring her ass as she went inside ahead of him, which probably wasn’t a good example either, but when she looked _that_ good in her skinny jeans, he didn’t give a shit.

While Taylor settled things downstairs, refilling the cats’ water dish and trying to locate where they were spending the night, Harry took Rosie upstairs to change her.

It was never a particularly nice job, changing a nappy with a number two, but Harry was taking whatever time he could have with her. Lying her on the change table, Rosie kicked her legs as he undid the bottom buttons of her onesie. He only opened up her striped onesie as much as he required, not wanting her to get cold, and he got the messy job done efficiently, with minimal wriggling on her part.

Not for the first time, he wondered how much she understood what was going on. She had been okay with him gone for the last few days, but he couldn’t predict how much of an effect, if any, his prolonged absence would have on her. If she forgot him…

Harry swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. No, Rosie wouldn’t forget him.

His daughter looked up at him with warmth as he gently rubbed his thumbs over her legs. In one of the many baby guides Taylor poured over, she had read that massaged helped not only a baby’s circulation but released relaxation that helped them to sleep well. It was a good way for Harry to bond with Rosie, too, something they would both miss.

When Taylor came to find them in the nursery, after having given them a bit longer to share, Rosie seemed drowsy again. Harry was singing softly to her, and Taylor simply watched in the doorway for a moment or so, capturing the vision to replay in her mind once he was gone.

Taylor stepped into the nursery after Harry kissed Rosie on both of her cheeks. Going for the bookshelf, she picked out a story for them to read to Rosie, and together they sat down closely on the rug routinely. While Harry held Rosie, Taylor turned the pages, and they alternated in reading the lines out to her. It wasn’t going to be the same without him, but they were both trying to push that out of their minds for the time being.

Once Rosie was suitably settled, her eyelids growing too heavy to keep looking at the picture book of a lamb’s day on the farm, they set her down in her crib, watching over her until she had properly fallen asleep again. Harry put his arm around Taylor’s waist and she turned into him, soundless as he unexpectedly moved his hands to the backs of her thighs and lifted her off her feet.

The one rule she had was that they weren’t allowed to fool around in the nursery. Okay, two: they couldn’t anywhere in front of Rosie. It made her too uncomfortable to be _that_ inappropriate; she had no intention to scar their child for life, if they could help it.

In faith of her decree, Harry carried her into their neighbouring bedroom. He set her down on the bedspread, climbing on top of her to kiss her, smiling as she immediately rolled them over so she was on top. So _that’s_ how she wanted to play.

They shuffled a bit further up the bed and picked up where they had left off earlier, kissing fervently. As soon as Taylor was satisfied she had given him enough of a taste of what was to come, she sat up, smiling down at him fearlessly.

“I’ve got something for you.”

She actually heard his intake of breath as she slowly pulled her top up over her head, revealing the blood red lacy bralette she had on underneath. That was… wow. Harry was almost ashamed by his inability to take his eyes off her, her breasts adorned with the seductive cover of lace. Oh, god, had he missed her in lace.

“Do you like it?” Taylor asked, nonchalantly shifting her hips so that she very purposely rubbed against him. Already, she could feel how much he was beginning to need her.

“I could look at you forever,” Harry murmured admiringly, running his hands up her thighs. Taylor tilted her head to the side, considering.

“What if I let you?”

“Hmm?”

Harry looked confused as she climbed up off him, stepping lightly over to the dresser. Impulsively, Taylor grabbed her Polaroid camera, holding it against her chest as she turned back to him, meeting his eyes with trust. _Oh_.

“If you show anyone, you’re dead,” she threatened, and he grinned at her, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?”

“I know.” Tossing him the camera, Taylor unzipped her jeans and shimmied out of them, leaving them carelessly on the floor. She twirled on the spot for him, giving him the whole view of her matching panties, smirking at the lustful look on his face. The new lingerie wasn’t just for him at all: she hadn’t felt this sexy in a long time, and that was exactly the sort of night she wanted to leave him with.

Harry wasted no time in stripping off his own clothes, eager as she returned to straddling his waist. He hesitated as he held up her Polaroid camera, squinting at her through the viewfinder, unsure whether she was actually serious until she tousled her curly hair and posed for him, pushing her chest out a little more for extra emphasis. Then, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing the shutter button, thrilled by Taylor’s excited giggle as he caught the Polaroid and set it on the blankets upside down.

Even as she covered her mouth, she couldn’t seem to stop giggling, the sweetness contrasting the sexiness of her attire. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I’m honoured,” Harry grinned back truthfully.

“I hope it gets you through all the lonely nights.”

“You fucking bet it will,” he promised, making them both laugh, her cheeks beautifully flushed.

“Can I… have one of you?”

Handing over the camera without delay, Harry sat up as she swung herself off him, her gaze following him as he tried to settle himself.

“Do you… have any preferences?”

“Harry, come on,” Taylor smiled at him. “I want you however you are.”

“However I am?” he repeated, as he leaned back on his hands. She hummed agreement, snapping a quick picture of him as he smiled back at her.

“Always.”

He didn’t think too much about it before tugging down his underwear, kicking them off the end of the bed. It didn’t bother him at all, yet he understood why Taylor raised her eyebrows at him.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s for your eyes only, isn’t it?”

Nodding slowly, Taylor brought the camera back up to her face, her heart pumping giddily as she peered at him through the viewfinder. Of course he didn’t care about taking a naked picture, he was so comfortable in his skin, walked around bare all the time (though not nearly so much since they had a baby). But, oh, it was _different_ as he slid down to lie propped up on his elbows, his tattoos contrasting against his skin in the low light. Her eyes followed down from the swallows on his chest down to the laurel leaves above his hips, to the dark curls he kept trimmed. His hand rested on his thigh, just near his hardened cock, and for a moment she really wanted to watch him touch himself in front of her.

Taylor hit the shutter and caught the Polaroid, setting it down to develop with the rest. Biting her lip, she soon broke into another smile as Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“We have naughty pictures of each other,” she whispered incredulously, a daring glint in her eyes. He couldn’t quite believe it either; her trust in him was blindingly obvious.

Rolling onto his side, Harry gestured for her to come closer, where he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh. “This’s what you’re gonna do with it,” he told her, slipping his finger into her panties and easily all the way inside her. Immediately, she let out a groan. “I want you to think of me.”

“Think of you doing what?” Taylor asked him calmly, trying to maintain her composure as he curled his finger inside her.

“The dirtiest things you can think of.” She stifled a laugh, and he grinned up at her. “I know you can think it. You’re not nearly as innocent as you seem.”

She couldn’t argue that, not with him. Instead, she smirked slightly and said, “Then get your hand out and give me what I really want.”

With their post-show energy and their impending parting, they held nothing back. They mixed things up between them, taking turns in having control, giving their bodies over to each other completely. She was loud for him like he liked it (though not _too_ loud, not wanting to disturb their nearby sleeping bub), and scratched her nails down his back to leave her mark on him. She bit his bottom lip, his shoulder, and sucked an impressive bruise on his neck, claiming him more obviously.

“Tell Lou I’m sorry,” she purred in his ear after making it; his make-up artist was going to have fun trying to cover _that_.

“You’re not sorry,” he snorted, and she giggled – he was right – pressing more kisses to his neck.

For tonight, Taylor just wanted to let him know she was all his. She wanted to do everything she could to please him, so he would remember while he was gone.

In a way, it was reminiscent of before, hook ups with desperate touches, raw lust burning so brightly between them that they couldn’t even consider holding back. They _needed_ to leave their mark on the other, to make them long to come back, to make them realise that it would never be the same with anyone else. They needed each other.

And yet, even now, when they knew their parting was definitely only temporary, it seemed even more intense. It certainly felt that way, as Taylor lay on her back with her legs over his shoulders, Harry thrusting into her roughly. Oh, god, that was good, really good, she was going to have to remember this for when–

“Oh, fuck, _Harry_ ,” Taylor cried as he quickened his pace, his hips snapping strong in just the _perfect_ place. She didn’t want him to _stop_ , and all of a sudden she was throwing her head back against the pillow and moaning his name again loudly, her body electrified as her climax hit her hard. Harry rode her through it as best as he could, within seconds spilling warm inside of her.

Together, they fought to catch their breath, a layer of sweat coating their bare limbs. Not that either of them cared – she wanted him to take her to the shower and rub gel all over her, making her extra slippery for when he pressed her up against the cold tiles and fucked her again, but perhaps that would have to wait until morning. It wasn’t often they got past one round anymore, thanks to their new family, and after making him come a few times, she began to wonder how much more she could get out of him.

Not much, it seemed, though it wasn’t his fault. After he pulled out of her, Harry started to lick her between her legs, enjoying tasting her. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow,” he commented with a proud smirk, which made her smile down at him.

“I’m gonna be sore all week,” she corrected, which made them both chuckle. Taylor ran her fingers through his hair, stroking fondly as he contentedly lapped his tongue over her centre. “You’re so incredible, babe. You make me feel so–”

She didn’t get to finish that thought, as suddenly a wail came through the baby monitor on the bedside table. Well, at least they had managed some thorough alone time before the inevitable interruption.

“She’s probably hungry,” Taylor guessed, as they extracted themselves from each other, Harry wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. God, why did she find that hot?

Picking her panties up off the floor, Taylor hurriedly pulled them on and slipped out the room, not wanting to walk into the nursery utterly naked. Rosie stopped crying as soon as she picked her up, guiding her to her bare breast and sighing as she latched on. Oh, that was better. She had felt full of milk for a while now, worried that if Harry touched her there too much she would start spraying milk everywhere (the first time she had voiced that horror thought, Harry had found it especially entertaining, and she got the feeling he still did). She hadn’t wanted to wake Rosie just to alleviate herself, though – and in part couldn’t drag herself away from Harry, either.

It turned out Rosie wasn’t that hungry, anyway. She only wanted a snack, yawning and turning down the offer of the other nipple.

“C’mon, baby,” Taylor coaxed, bouncing her a little to rouse her more. “You’ve gotta want more. Mommy’s got more for you, just have a little.”

Much as she tried, Rosie wasn’t interested in any more sustenance right now; she wanted her bed again. Reluctantly, Taylor draped a cloth over her shoulder and burped her, Rosie resting her head comfortably on her shoulder as she dozed back off in the blink of an eye. Yeah, and what was the bet she would fall asleep that easily when Taylor actually wanted her to?

“She good?” Harry asked from the doorway, startling her. When she turned around, she found he didn’t share the same qualms; his stark nakedness actually made her feel a little better.

“She fell asleep on me before I was done,” Taylor muttered, carefully settling Rosie back down in her cot, watching over her a moment to make sure she was alright. Her feet wiggled a bit, and she stuck an arm out, but otherwise she seemed settled.

Stepping back, Taylor sighed, cupping her right breast and debating her next move. She couldn’t do _nothing_ , if she wanted to be comfortable; Harry knew better than to suggest she use the breast pump that had barely left its box. The last time he had made that mistake, she had glared at him heatedly, proclaiming, “I am not a _cow_ – I refuse to be milked like one!” She found the contraption demeaning and largely avoided it at all costs.

“Here, darling,” Harry said quietly, extending his hand out to her. “Come back to bed.”

“But–”

“Come. Trust me.”

Still a little apprehensive, Taylor accepted his hand, letting him lead her back to their bedroom. He made her lie back down, and he climbed back on top of her, but not with the urgency of before. They had both calmed down, and there was now a softness in Harry’s gaze.

He ran a finger under the curve of her heavy breast, dipping his head to lightly kiss over it. _Oh_. Oh, so that’s what he had in mind.

“Can I?” he whispered, looking up at her in seek of permission first. She didn’t know quite what to say, and gave a tiny nod instead.

Harry was much more tender with her, his mouth coming to her nipple with a gentleness so contrasting to the neediness of Rosie’s. Her eyes closed contentedly as he suckled on her, surprisingly not finding it all that strange. She slipped her fingers in his hair and held his head like she did for Rosie, giving him the rest of her body-warmed milk. It was rather nice, actually. Intimate in a way she hadn’t thought about before.

It turned out to have much the same effect on Harry, too. When he eventually pulled away from her, making a similar little wet popping sound that Rosie did, which made her smile softly, he rested his head on her chest, sighing gently. She kept her fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp as his breath tickled her bare skin.

“I love you so much, Taylor,” Harry whispered sleepily, his eyes closed. “The way you give life to Rosie ‘s just… I can’t thank you enough. You two mean everything to me.”

Keeping her fingers moving soothingly, Taylor swallowed back tears. With him here, his body so warm and comforting against hers, she would not cry tonight.

 

*** * * * ***

 

The mood of the morning was a dramatic shift. Harry had to fly out for his next show in Chicago that night; there was no choice to extend his stay. Not that there was much use in delaying their goodbye, anyway; it wouldn’t make it any easier.

They were quieter with each other. Taylor cooked him pancakes for breakfast, and tried her best to make him a good cup of tea, like how he did for her. He complimented her with a warm smile, squeezing her hand affectionately. It gave her a small pang in her heart – _but he was coming home_. She was holding onto that.

Harry spent some time alone with Rosie, getting her dressed and playing with her for a bit. He felt terrible for leaving her, especially when she looked up at him with such devotion in her eyes. For her, it was just an ordinary day.

Albeit, Harry didn’t cry while holding her on an ordinary day. Sitting in the rocking chair, he talked to her quietly for a while – babies were great listeners, since they couldn’t understand what you were on about and try to contradict you. He had poured his heart out to her while they were alone a few times (as had Taylor), and he held her against his chest protectively as tears rolled down his cheeks, comforted by the small, warm weight of her.

His bags were already packed; he cleaned himself up before he faced Taylor again. Even so, she could see the emotion etched into his features, and kissed him on the cheek instead of trying to get him to talk. They had already done that earlier.

It felt far too soon when the car came to pick him up. They lingered by the front door, Rosie propped up in Harry’s arms as they said their last goodbyes.

“You’re gonna be good for mummy, aren’t you?” he said to her, rubbing his finger against her cheek affectionately. “Take care of her for me, okay?”

Taylor smiled at them, with a touch of sadness. “She’s gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss her more.” Swallowing hard, he looked back up at Taylor. “We’ll talk every day. ‘S gonna be fine.”

“I know.” She reached forward to take Rosie from him, once he gave her a kiss on the forehead, and she cuddled her daughter close. “Have fun, okay? You’re gonna be amazing; we’ll be watching everything I can find.”

Shrugging slightly, he smiled at her thankfully. “Hope she likes it.”

“She loves you singing for her.”

And then tears quickly formed in her eyes at the thought of him not being able to, and she had to look away, shaking her head apologetically. She didn’t want to cry, no, she didn’t want that to be how they parted, not when he was leaving to do what he loved.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised in almost a whisper. Harry didn’t want to cry either; when he cupped her cheek and a tear of hers escaped, that was a whole lot harder.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Taylor made sure to remind him, her voice coming out strained. More tears came, and she felt awful for it, and she just wanted to be going _with_ him.

But she knew she would be okay. She knew _they_ would be okay.

Rosie couldn’t understand that, though. She only sensed her mother’s emotion and knew something was wrong but didn’t know why, and so her own bottom lip started quivering and she cried too. Immediately, Taylor set aside her own feelings to tend to her daughter.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m sorry, mommy’s fine, I’m sorry,” she quickly tried to reassure her in a light, soothing tone, cradling her head against her chest. “It’s okay, Rosie. Shh, baby, it’s alright.”

It didn’t take too long for her to calm down again, comforted with her head nuzzled against her mother’s chest. Taylor always made things better – _that_ she could understand.

Harry gave Rosie another kiss on the cheek, smoothly stroking the top of her head. She blinked up at him as he looked back at Taylor, cupping her face with both his hands and giving her a long, loving kiss.

“I’ll call you as soon as we get to the hotel.”

Taylor nodded a little, as she patted Rosie’s back to keep her calm. “Good luck with the tour. Not that you need me to say that, but…” she trailed off with a small smile.

“I always need to hear it from you, love,” he replied softly, with a smile in return. “Tell me everything I miss.”

“And you tell me, too.”

And when Harry finally left, he had the taste of Taylor’s lips on his and the soft scent of a clean baby, dusted with talcum powder. He wouldn’t forget. And neither would they.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

It was hard at first, but the days began to grow easier. Taylor and Rosie fell into a new routine, practically inseparable. They cuddled and played, went to the park and to the library, even spent an afternoon in a studio. That had been an impulse move on Taylor’s part, recording a demo of a song she had written but didn’t expect the world to ever hear, inspired by the endless videos taken by fans at Harry’s shows.

They FaceTimed daily and texted each other the thoughts that couldn’t wait. Taylor provided him with full Rosie Updates – and Rosie began to associate mommy’s phone with seeing daddy, assuming every time Taylor pulled it out that he would appear on the screen.

“That’s smart of you, baby, but daddy’s busy. I’m using it for something else,” Taylor had had to explain to her whenever she seemed disappointed that her phone wasn’t doing what she expected. Honestly, Taylor barely used it much in front of her, anyway. She was not going to be one of those parents who spent all their time staring at their screens instead of giving their child the vital attention they needed.

Rosie received most of Taylor’s attention. It was a lot more difficult taking care of her on her own – it was a lot of going to the toilet in front of a baby on the floor and going as long as she could stand without showering (thank god for dry shampoo!). At least Rosie was old enough to sit in a jumper – not that she particularly got the concept of jumping in it yet, but it at least provided Taylor with more peace of mind than leaving her momentarily unattended on a blanket did.

While Taylor mostly felt in control, there were moments when she wanted to scream into a pillow and just be _alone_ for a while. She loved Rosie wholeheartedly, but at times she could get very trying, particularly when she was fussy or wouldn’t sleep or whined for no apparent reason. There wasn’t a parent out there who hadn’t longed for a moment of peaceful solitude.

It wasn’t like she was completely alone with Harry gone, though. Her parents visited regularly, offering much-needed support in allowing Taylor a bit of a break. Her friends were always in contact, too, which gave her a great outlet when she needed to vent, or hear about a life that didn’t involve changing stinky nappies.

_‘COME LEARN TO CHANGE SOME DIRTY DIAPERS I KNOW HOW MUCH THE IDEA APPEALS TO YOU’_ she had texted Ed at one point, unsurprised by his kind rejection of the offer. _‘CHERRY WOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOU’_

Selena came to stay with her, which was a welcome addition to the house. She loved getting to know Rosie, who seemed to like her back, and Taylor found great relief in having one of her long-time best friends around to talk to and lend a hand. From their years of friendship, Taylor knew she could tell Selena anything without judgement.

“I feel like the cats are feeling left out,” Taylor mused, one night they were lying on their lounge room floor together, watching over Rosie on her blanket nearby; she was busy playing with one of her stuffed toys. “Meredith coughed up that hairball for attention.”

“That does sound like a very Meredith thing to do,” Selena agreed, dipping the nail polish brush back in the pot, borrowing one of Taylor’s reds. “They’ll get used to sharing your attention.”

“I’m not so sure they’re gonna like Rosie’s. Can you ever imagine Mere appreciating a toddler chasing after her?”

“No.”

They laughed at the mental image of a speedy crawler determined to make the self-righteous cat their playmate. Rosie glanced their way at the sound, looking the picture of innocence with her big blue eyes and rosebud lips. Oh, she was _definitely_ going to be going after the cats once she was old enough.

“It’s going to be so exciting seeing her start crawling. I’m going to have my hands full keeping up with her.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Selena reminded her confidently. They had all known Taylor was going to make an excellent mother, and seeing her in action these past few days only made her all the more certain that Rosalie was one lucky little girl.

“I’ve kind of been thinking about going to New York,” Taylor admitted, the first time she had spoken the thought aloud. “Not for long – a week, maybe. I have some ideas I wanna work on with Jack, it’s just… I don’t wanna get Rosie all caught up with paps, you know? It’s so quiet here, and New York is so busy – I don’t know how she’ll handle it.”

“You’ve hidden out in New York before, Tay: you can do it again.”

“I haven’t hidden out with a _baby_ before. And I know people are talking about us right now and I don’t want to give them any more fuel for that.”

They had flared up again on social media ever since it became known that Taylor had gone to Harry’s Nashville show. _Was she on tour with him? Oh, no, she hasn’t been to any more, she must be staying at home. Or maybe they broke up – serves her right for getting knocked up!_

“Do you know how many people think all this is one big conspiracy? It was ridiculous the first time round, but now – some people seriously seem to think Rosie isn’t even real! Or that I just lied about Harry being her father, even though her head is totally the same shape as his!”

In the way of babies, Rosie was yet to distinctly resemble either of her parents, her characteristics similar to the both of them. Even so, after pouring over pictures of infant Harry, Taylor was fairly sure her head looked more like his than hers. Otherwise, everyone seemed to agree Rosie’s blue eyes, silky blonde hair, and pink lips were showing signs of stronger genes on her part.

“People are crazy.”

“You can say that again.” Taylor twisted a curl absentmindedly around her finger; she could do with a trim, but that really hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind lately. “And I don’t want to upset Harry by it, either. I don’t want him to take it personally, like I’m picking New York over him.”

“Spending a week in New York really isn’t the same thing as going on tour with him.”

“I know. And I know he’ll know, but I’m just… overthinking everything. Having a baby is exhausting.”

Selena smiled as Taylor flopped facedown on the floor dramatically, holding her weight on one elbow as she patted her on the back with her other hand. Of what she had seen so far, she was surprised Taylor wasn’t _more_ tired, or walking around constantly on the verge of tears (that had been earlier, when a few days after Harry’s departure Rosie had come down with a cold and had been relentlessly grumpy). Their relaxed days together, where they could just lie on the floor and talk for as long as they liked, was exactly the kind of relief she needed.

“I’ll grab the Poptarts,” Selena decided – snacks were always in order – and immediately Taylor perked back up, propping herself up on her forearms.

“We need hot chocolate. Can you check we’ve still got marshmallows, please?”

While Selena slipped off to the kitchen with a comfort of having stayed here countless times before, Taylor focused back on Rosie, who had done her own share of face planting. Lying on her tummy like they regularly got her to for play time, Rosie had evidently had enough, having ditched her toy and rested her head, her cheek pressed against the blanket and her hand wedged in her mouth, simply watching.

Reaching for the abandoned toy, a brightly coloured firefly with a friendly smiling face, Taylor held it up to her invitingly. “Freddie’s sad now! Don’t worry, Freddie – mommy’ll play with you instead. – Eww, why is he wet? Have you been sucking him again?”

Freddie the Firefly, an adorable stuffed toy that had been given as a gift, smiled up at her happily, despite his damp yellow wing that had been victim of Rosie’s urge to shove things in her mouth. At least she recognised it was only sucking – Harry’s accusation of “She bit me!” one morning Rosie had gotten his finger in her mouth had made her roll her eyes. “She didn’t _bite_ you – she doesn’t have any teeth,” she had told him patiently, holding little sympathy when she was well acquainted with the firm grip of Rosie’s gums on a much more sensitive spot than simply her finger.

Rosie protested with a whine when Taylor hugged Freddie, saliva and all, and Taylor smiled at her naturally. “Aww, you want a hug instead? C’mere, baby, give mommy a cuddle.”

Taylor wriggled closer and scooped Rosie up, rolling onto her back as she lifted the baby up in the air. Rosie smiled down at her, her arms and legs kicking freely as Taylor held her solidly around her middle at arm’s length. “Like a firefly!” Taylor grinned as she playfully lifted her up and down, swerving a little to and fro as if she were really flying. It made Rosie giggle, the sound instantly warming Taylor’s heart in a way that nothing else could.

They were cuddling sweetly when Selena returned with a plate of warm Poptarts, making her smile as she came to sit back down beside them. “You’re the cutest mom, y’know?

“It’s all Rosie. She’s the cutest little angel in the world – aren’t you, sweetie? I love you so much.” Taylor kissed the top of Rosie’s head, resting on her chest, a few times, smoothing her hand over her back tenderly. She tugged up Rosie’s socks routinely, trying to ensure they wouldn’t fall off and leave her with cold feet.

“Y’know… it’s hard to think how different things were just last year,” Taylor said, looking back at her best friend, who was taking a bite out of a chocolate Poptart. “When everything felt like it was falling apart, it was actually falling into place. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this truly happy, and… safe.”

Selena smiled at her warmly, unable to fully express how grateful she was to see Taylor thriving when months ago she had been so full of uncertainty. The pair had been there for each other’s ups and downs over the years, and there was nothing quite like those moments where they came out on top.

“I did wonder if you two would actually ever work things out,” Selena revealed after swallowing her bite, and Taylor laughed as she reached for a Poptart, keeping one hand on Rosie’s back, rubbing soothingly.

“If it weren’t for Rosie, we probably wouldn’t’ve. We’ll never know.”

She had thought about it before: whether she and Harry would’ve actually braved opening up to each other and giving their relationship another go if they hadn’t been forced to reconnect. Cynically, she expected that things would’ve stayed the same, random hook ups until one of them found someone else permanent for a while. Funny that: one thing that was permanent was their uncanny ability to keep coming back to each other.

“He would’ve cracked eventually. He told everyone he’s perfect for you, remember?”

“I can’t believe he really did that,” Taylor grinned, recalling a twenty-year-old Harry telling her about this new song he’d written called ‘Perfect’. Her jaw had dropped upon first hearing the break up songs line; his audacity had actually kind of impressed her. He had been asked relentlessly about her, and yet he had taken it all in stride – while she went off pretending she was perfect for someone else.

Well, she wasn’t making _that_ mistake again.

“I’m so crazy about him,” Taylor announced unashamedly, with a smile she couldn’t wipe off her face. “He’s an idiot and I’m so in love with him.”

“Does he still send you those good morning and good night texts?”

“Every single day since he left, without fail.”

“The look on your face makes me not want to ask about the content of all the other texts.”

“What look on my face?!” Taylor laughed, her exclamation disturbing Rosie, who mumbled and wriggled her legs. A comforting pat on the back easily settled her again. “Okay, yeah, they’re not all innocent, but it’s actually kind of hot.”

Selena nudged her with her foot teasingly. “Is it _really?_ ” she said, drawing out the word to make them both giggle again.

“I’m _so_ not saying any more. Except that all that not so innocent stuff is actually better when you’re his girlfriend.” Glancing down at Rosie, Taylor patted her again reassuringly. “You didn’t hear that, honey.”

And she hoped it would properly stay that way – as frisky as she knew she and Harry could get, the last thing she wanted was her child hearing it, or even worse, walking in on it. They were definitely going to have to be careful, especially once Rosie grew older.

“I miss him, but it’s different now,” Taylor went on, in a much more G-rated route. “I know he’s coming back this time.

“He can really piss me off, and we argue sometimes, but we always find a way to work through it. Y’know, he does these really nice things for me out of the blue, like buying me flowers or running me a bath after a long day, and it’s like… he _really_ cares about me. When I look at him now I don’t think, oh god how long is he going to stick around this time, but that this is the man who’s gonna be there for me through anything. And there’s a part of me that wants to go around telling everyone that I’m in love with him and he’s in love with me because it just feels so…”

Making an incoherent noise that summed up what she couldn’t put into words, the girls smiled at each other understandingly. They might’ve had similar conversations in the past, but Taylor knew that this was it. Harry was the one in which she wanted everything to begin and end.

“It sounds like you wanna write album six,” Selena predicted teasingly; she knew her best friend well enough to know that her break wasn’t going to last forever, that it was more likely to end sooner rather than later, even with Rosie. If anyone could find a way to manage juggling a music career with being a mom, it was Taylor.

“It sounds like I need some hot chocolate now. Do we have those marshmallows left, or have I already gone through them all?”

“There’s like a quarter of a bag left.”

“Perfect. You want one?”

Carefully handing Rosie over to be cuddled in new arms, Taylor got up to make them each a mug of hot chocolate, just like her own mom made it. And she knew, truly, that Selena was right: there was a lot she wanted to say for the man she loved, and when the time was right, no one would be able to stop her.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

All was going well, until suddenly it wasn’t.

_Oh god, oh god, what am I doing, what do I do, I can’t do this, oh god._

Taylor had ended up going to New York for a short stay, working on a few tracks with Jack which they sealed away in the _For Later_ category. It had been a cathartic trip, with Rosie throwing in her own backing vocals as she played on the studio floor, since they couldn’t just leave her alone. With luck on their side, they flew there and back in her private jet without anyone appearing to notice they had ever left Nashville.

It had lined up perfectly with Harry’s short break between tour legs. He had come home for a week, one wonderful week, before having to head off to Europe.

He buzzed with adrenaline of performing for enthusiastic crowds, though the enjoyment he found in being home again had been evident. With plenty of affection to give, he had shared it between his two favourite girls, doting over Rosie who seemed happy to see him again. Well, mostly, anyway.

Rosie had learned how to turn over on her own. It had freaked Taylor out for a moment the first time, having left Rosie on the floor lying on her back very briefly to grab Olivia from off the top of the piano, lest she scratch the surface with her claws, and returned to find her lying face down instead. When she realised that Rosie wasn’t in distress, and that she had done it on purpose, Taylor had been _very_ proud.

So had Harry, though he had managed to upset Rosie by making a game of it. On her blanket, he had nudged her to turn on her stomach, then her back, and again, and again, until she started crying since – surprise! – just because she _could_ , didn’t mean she actually wanted to roll around like a chubby sausage.

“Harry! You made her cry!” Taylor had immediately set aside her book and leapt off the couch; she had been suspicious of his game when she could hear him quietly going, “ _Weeeee_ ,” as he rolled her. Harry tried to apologise to Rosie, but she had only settled in Taylor’s embrace. “Daddy’s a big meanie, isn’t he? It’s okay, we’ll get him back.”

Taylor wished she could get him back home now. Rosie might tend to settle easiest in her arms, but who was supposed to settle _her?_

At first, it had seemed like any ordinary morning. Taylor woke to a not quite empty bed – Meredith had curled up at her feet in the night, and didn’t intend on moving any time soon – and climbed out in her cat pyjamas to slip into the ensuite. One glance in the mirror let her know she needed to find a chance to wash her hair today – while one of Rosie’s naps would be best, she decided.

She smiled when she checked her phone on the nightstand, finding another _‘Good morning, beautiful x’_ text waiting for her. Maybe they could make their later FaceTime session one of their steamy ones.

The thought completely left her mind when she made her next routine stop to check on Rosie.

Her daughter was already awake, staring up at the mobile that hung above her cot. She couldn’t focus on it perfectly yet; bright colours were easier on her young eyes, as opposed to the mobile of pretty pastel flowers that hung above her. And yet still she stared at it, as she waited for her mommy to come take care of her.

“Good morning, my little angel,” Taylor cooed at her, as she reached into the cot to fondly stroke Rosie’s head. It was then that she realised something was wrong.

“You feel warm, baby.” She furrowed her brow as her hand felt at Rosie’s forehead and both of her cheeks. In her sleep, Rosie always felt warm, but not normally so much when she was awake. How long _had_ she been awake? She was getting better at sleeping through the night, getting a solid six hours or so, along with naps during the day. Maybe she had only just woken up, so her temperature hadn’t dropped to normal yet–

The back of her neck was definitely warm. Taylor always checked the back of her neck to gauge her temperature, and her stomach dropped when Rosie’s skin felt warm against the gentle touch of her fingers.

“Are you feeling okay?” Taylor asked, as if Rosie could really come out with a clear answer. “C’mere, baby, let’s have a cuddle.”

Cuddles were definitely in order. Together, they sat on the rocking chair, where Taylor fed her and she began to grow restless. Rosie wriggled and whined, soon spitting up down the front of her onesie and looking up at Taylor with such an air of _need_ that twisted her heart tightly.

“Why don’t we run you a bath, hey? A nice bath will make you feel better.”

At least, she _hoped_ it would. After taking off the wet onesie, Taylor brought Rosie into her room to flick Harry a quick text to let him know she was coming down with something. Meredith eyed them with mild interest, still lying comfortably on the same spot at the end of the bed. It was a shame Rosie wasn’t bigger – a cuddle from one of the cats always put Taylor in a better mood whenever she wasn’t feeling the best.

Shoving her phone in the pocket of her pyjama pants, Taylor set the baby bath up in the bathroom, making sure the water wasn’t too hot for Rosie’s sensitive skin. A part of her just wanted to run a cold one to help normalise her temperature, but she knew Rosie didn’t like them so much once the water had cooled off.

Taylor took her time with washing Rosie, who didn’t seem so happy to be in the bath as she normally was. She didn’t kick so much, or smile when Taylor made splashes or fondly stroked her head. And yet Taylor still tried, getting her clean and keeping her occupied as the water cooled.

Her phone began to ring partway through; she had left it on the tiles so it wouldn’t slip out her pocket, keeping it out of the splash zone. Wiping her wet hand on her pants first, she answered Harry’s call, putting it on speaker.

“Hey, babe.”

“Is Rosie okay?”

“She’s got a temperature, but she seems mostly okay. I’m giving her a bath – say hi to daddy, sweetie.”

With gentle prodding, Rosie only tilted her head back and whined, not exactly the greeting any of them hoped for.

“Poor thing. Are you gonna be alright with her?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s probably nothing. She’ll probably sleep it off with her nap later, anyway.”

God, she wished that would be the case.

Taylor stayed calm on the phone, not wanting to concern Harry too much before his show that night; she had just wanted to let him know. She had predicted he would call as soon as he read her text, and she knew talking it over would make her feel better about it, more stable. After all, she was probably right: her first instinct of panic upon finding Rosie with a temperature was probably an overreaction. Rosie seemed okay.

…Or not.

It felt like no time at all before Rosie had a full-blown fever. After her bath, cold by the time they were done, Taylor had hung up with Harry with a promise of updates, and followed their post-bath rituals of a soothing massage of lotion into her soft baby skin. She dressed her and brought her downstairs to watch some TV for a while, where Rosie began to burn like a hot coal as she lay on Taylor.

Her shirt got wet when Rosie spat up what milk she hadn’t earlier, her little fist clutching at the soft white fabric underneath her. Damn, _why_ hadn’t she bothered to get dressed herself, these were her favourite cat pyjamas.

Taylor threw on an old sweatshirt and took Rosie’s coveralls off; babies couldn’t sweat to cool themselves, and she was afraid Rosie was too hot with clothes on. She was just too _hot_ , god, she was getting more restless and upset by the minute.

Filling a bottle with water, Taylor made Rosie drink, desperate to keep her hydrated. It wasn’t the first time Rosie had been sick; as long as she kept a level head, they would both be fine.

As she cradled Rosie, small hands learning to grasp the bottle she held steady for her, Taylor noticed a tiny red dot on Rosie’s arm. It wasn’t the mark from the most recent round of injections she had been subjected to; it looked more like a mosquito bite. A mosquito bite, oh god, what if she had _malaria?_ Malaria caused fevers, but this was Nashville, people didn’t get malaria in Nashville, oh god, what if her baby was the one person who contracted malaria in Nashville?!

The thought process in Taylor’s head followed that worst-case-scenario train, as she tried to offer comfort to a burning hot baby who started routinely kicking and screaming, settling for a short while only to start back up again. Taylor quite wanted to cry herself, as she patted Rosie’s back, being smacked in the ribs by surprisingly strong feet and hearing shrieks from never-tiring lungs in her ear.

She couldn’t even put her down, for every time without fail Rosie would start crying again within thirty seconds. She wouldn’t sleep, and when she managed to keep milk down, it came out the other end in a sloppy mess that made Taylor feel sick herself.

Oh god, why was she alone, she wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to be able to do _something_ to make her daughter okay again, oh god, what if she was never okay again?!

It took her far too long to give her mom a call, and Taylor actually let out a frustrated groan when it went to voicemail, which made Rosie wail again. Jiggling her in her arm, trying to settle her again, she tried calling Harry again instead, forgetting the time difference. He didn’t answer either, and she could no longer stop herself from bursting into tears, leaving a desperate message that was punctuated by Rosie’s cries in the background, because no way was she going to settle when mommy was crying too.

Taylor didn’t know what to do. Should she take her to a doctor? Or was it too soon for that? Was she just being overdramatic about it all?

She tried giving Rosie another bath later in the day, dressing her again in just a fresh nappy to save on laundry. She gave her her pink kitty toy for comfort, tried giving her more water and feeding her again. Belatedly, Taylor realised she hadn’t eaten anything all day, so focused on her daughter, and she forced herself to crunch through an apple despite her lack of hunger. If it was going to be a long night ahead, she would need the energy.

Her phone died without her noticing, left discarded on a table somewhere, missing return calls from both Harry and her mom. At least she had remembered to feed the cats. The cats were fine; they were due for another claw clipping, but that really wasn’t a priority for her at all right now.

All that mattered was Rosie.

After hours of restless discomfort, whining and wailing, dabbing cold cloths over the baby’s forehead and neck, begging her to be okay in a sugary sweet tone, Rosie eventually grew worn out. Her eyes remained closed and her small body relaxed heavily as she lay on Taylor’s chest; she had to check that Rosie was actually still breathing.

It took her a while to dare trying to move off the couch. If Rosie was going to have a proper sleep, lasting more than the fleeting naps she had managed during the day, the last thing Taylor wanted was to be the reason she woke up again.

Slowly sitting up, Taylor was able to get up and place Rosie down in the bassinet she had left out in the hope that she might actually get to use it. When Rosie didn’t stir, she tiptoed out to the hall, then practically ran into the kitchen, gasping for a moment alone.

Coffee. She needed coffee. If the sound woke Rosie, she swore she would actually start screaming.

While the machine did its thing, she shoved a chocolate biscuit in her mouth, heedless of manners. Mmm, chocolate was good, she was going to hang on to that packet.

Taylor sat down at the breakfast bar, taking a long, medicating sip of strong coffee. The house was quiet, save the hum of the refrigerator. Peace at last.

It lasted maybe twenty minutes. Taylor was regretting scoffing one too many biscuits when she heard an all too familiar cry from the next room. Closing her eyes, she took a calming deep breath, uttered a string of expletives she was thankful no one was around to hear, before returning to Mom Duty.

It was a tough night. Rosie remained feverish and upset, appearing to find some relief in random bouts of screaming. The cats had wisely hidden themselves far from the action, understandably not wanting anything to do with a shrieking child who was prone to grabbing rather than stroking. A part of Taylor wanted to curl up under a chair, too.

Between rocking Rosie, giving her water and having to deal with the consequences of keeping her hydrated, trying to get her to sleep and comforting her when she inevitably woke up again, Taylor didn’t get a chance to rest either. She had another cup of coffee, and nearly drifted off when she relocated up to the nursery and sat in the rocking chair while Rosie napped, only to be startled back into alertness when she cried again.

If she was ever going to be able to get through a day without Rosie crying, she was going to be one happy mom.

An all nighter hadn’t been what she had been bargaining for, but she couldn’t say she was all that surprised. Rosie’s temperature had dropped, with time and the medicine she had given her, thank god, but she was still unusually hot and clearly uncomfortable. They were managing, though. That was all that mattered.

It was terribly early in the morning, according to the clock in the kitchen, when Taylor went down to get a snack and a glass of water for herself. She picked at some grapes, the weight of the baby monitor in the pocket of the pyjama pants she had never changed out of reminding her that at any moment she would have to bound back up the stairs to the nursery when Rosie woke up again. For a few minutes, she would have a break, though. She would give herself that.

The only thing she had been expecting as she leaned against the counter on her own was the sound of baby cries. Perhaps the odd bump from one of the cats meandering around, but certainly not the sound of another _person_. Instantly, she froze, her blood running cold.

It was coming from the front of the house. She hadn’t heard any cars, but it sounded an awful lot like someone was at the door with a key. Why the heck was there someone jamming a key in the lock of _her_ door at this early hour?!

There were only three other people who had a key to the house, none of which would have any reason to be dropping in unannounced (she had forgotten about her dead phone) before the sun was up and shining. Either one of them had snapped and decided to start a new visiting trend, or some whack job stalker had somehow stolen or made a duplicate key and was breaking in to kidnap her and sniff her bed sheets.

No way was anyone going to get away with breaking in on her watch. Taylor had a baby – a sick one at that – to protect, and that was all she thought of as she stood very still in the kitchen.

In an instant, Taylor snatched a knife from the block on the counter – she had watched enough crime shows to know never to go ahead unarmed. It didn’t occur to her what she would actually _do_ with it; if it came down to it, she wouldn’t hesitate to use it to protect Rosie. Her primal need to protect her daughter was what was keeping her surprisingly stable, pounding heart aside. No matter what, no one was getting upstairs where they could hurt her baby girl.

Stealthily, in her cat PJ pants and a stained sweatshirt, Taylor slunk toward the front of the house. Yes, that was definitely someone with a key, fumbling around in the low light. God, they were going to regret trying to get in here with a key.

The front door opened and closed; they were being careful about keeping quiet. Well, the joke was on them: Taylor could be terribly quiet too, socks on her feet. They wouldn’t know what hit them when–

The knife she had clutched tightly in her right hand slipped out of her grasp, clattering on the hardwood floor, startling the intruder as much as they had her.

“What’s with the knife?” were their first words, in that British accent that sounded so much like home.

“I thought you were a murderer.”

“With a _key?_ ”

Taylor didn’t have an answer for that. Her bottom lip merely quivered, and before she had consciously decided it she was running across to the entryway, throwing herself at Harry – _Harry!!!_ – who dropped his duffel bag and met her partway. What was he doing here, oh god he was really here, he had come for her!

As she found immediate relief in squeezing him tightly, making sure he was actually real and not just some sleep deprived hallucination, Taylor didn’t realise she was choking him with her desperate embrace. Too polite to tell her, Harry simply hugged her back, holding her for as long as she needed.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in–”

“’S okay. Next show’s not ‘til tomorrow; I can fly back in time,” he assured her. “How is she?”

“She’s sleeping – for now, anyway.” Taylor pulled back, just enough so she could look at him properly again. She slid a hand to touch his cheek, biting down on her lip. “I don’t know. Her temperature’s down, but– it just came on so _suddenly_ – she was fine the day before but now she’s crying and she hurts and she can’t tell me what’s wrong and– and I just want her to be _okay_.”

Harry hushed her and cradled her head, her face burrowing in the crook of his neck as she began to cry again. His heart ached, same as it had when he had listened to her voicemail. The rush from performing had vanished when he had checked his phone back in his dressing room after the last show, blood draining from his face as he heard the blatantly distraught message she had left. Without a second thought, he had arranged a flight back to Nashville, gathered a bag of his things from his hotel room, and left Cologne within an hour. Thank god there was a couple days break before his next show in London.

“She’s going to be alright, love,” he told her gently. He couldn’t know for sure, of course; she just _had_ to be.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Taylor sniffled, her voice muffled against his neck.

“I tried calling you a bunch of times, but your phone’s off.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding distant.

“Are you alright, Tay?” Harry asked her, concerned.

“I’m just so glad you’re–”

A high pitched wail came from the pocket of her pants, and Taylor sighed deeply. Pulling away with reluctance, she wiped her face with her sleeve and tried to compose herself again.

“She up in her room?”

“Yeah, I’ll just–”

“I’ll go,” Harry was quick to insist, as they spoke over the cries the baby monitor was emitting.

“But you just got here–”

“I came to help, love; I’ll go. You take a break.”

And with a kiss on her cheek, his hand slipping into her pocket to grab the baby monitor, Harry went to do what he had came here for. Stunned, Taylor turned and merely watched him for a moment, before picking his bag up off the floor and toddling off after her Prince Charming.

By the time she caught up, Rosie was lulled in Harry’s arms, his head dipped close to hers as he spoke quietly to her. Taylor forced herself to continue down the hall to deposit his bag in their bedroom; he was capable of taking care of their baby, she knew that.

Yet still, she popped back up in the doorway to the nursery a moment later, the worry she had been harbouring for the last twenty-four hours unable to be instantly erased by Harry’s sudden appearance.

“Is she hungry?” Taylor asked, when she found Harry had stepped over to the change table. “She hasn’t been fed for a few hours, she’s probably hungry.”

“She’s wet,” Harry let her know, as he carefully set Rosie down on the table. She wriggled, kicking her bare legs up towards him. “Why’s she not got anything on?”

“Because she’s _hot_ ,” she replied, a bit more forcefully than she really meant to.

They were silent as Harry changed Rosie’s nappy. He was a little unnerved by Taylor just standing there watching, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. He didn’t mean to offend her, nor did he want her upset with him. He had genuinely only come back to help.

“I can feed her easier than you can,” she said more steadily once he was done, conscious of the tone she used this time. She didn’t want to upset him, either.

Harry nodded, recognising when not to argue with her, and let her pick Rosie up and take her over to the rocking chair. He crouched down by her, gently rubbing his hand over her knee as she pulled her sweatshirt up to feed Rosie, and Taylor tried not to cry as she cradled her daughter.

“Tell me how she’s been,” he asked of her, and she sighed, stroking her thumb over Rosie’s fuzzy head as she began to give him the details.

Rosie was doing a bit better, at least. Her temperature hadn’t gone back up since it had first spiked, but she was still cranky. Yes, definitely cranky.

Wriggling had ended with her being relinquished to Harry after she had been fed, though she didn’t settle properly for him either. Harry gently blew cold air in her ear to distract her, and the grumpy frown on her face and her curled fists strongly suggested that if she knew how to coordinate her limbs, he would be on the receiving end of some miniature violence.

It made Taylor smile, at least, and her heart melted when he glanced back up at her and gave her a dimpled grin. Oh, god, was she relieved he had come home.

“Why don’t you have a shower, love, and get some sleep?” he suggested, while Rosie took to grabbing at his shirt. “I’ll take her downstairs and watch over her. You need some rest.”

As heavenly as rest sounded, Taylor was reluctant to step away. He saw it clearly, and was quick to try to reassure her.

“We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Ro Ro?”

Delightfully, Rosie chose that particular moment to let a little dribble of spat up milk run down her chin.

“Eurgh,” Harry laughed, wiping it off with the heel of his hand. “That’s not how we make mummy feel better, sweetheart.”

“Thank you for coming, Harry,” Taylor said quietly, swallowing back the tears that began to sting her eyes again. God, why did she always have to get so emotional when she was tired and stressed?

Shrugging, he gave her a small smile. “’S nothing. Now _go_ – I’ll get you if she needs you. Promise.”

Taylor trusted him wholeheartedly. So she got up, kissed the both of them on their foreheads, and went to take a long hot shower (finally, she could take off her sweatshirt that had been victim to random spurts of spit up and drool), where she could let the stinging water cleanse her skin, and cleanse her mind with a cry for a little while in privacy.

On the other hand, Harry got the chance to experience what her last day had been like. Typically, he missed out on the worst of it; whatever it was that Rosie had come down with was working its way out of her system. Still, his cheery, “C’mon, sunshine, daddy’s gonna cheer you up,” was rather pre-emptive.

He too got drooled on (nothing new) and was spat up on, was screamed at and rather unfortunately once poked in the eye. The advantage he had, at least, was that he had actually had some more recent sleep and was in a clearer state of mind to deal with it.

He dressed her in a bodysuit (he didn’t think she felt so hot that some clothing would hurt her) and was glad he had chosen a white one, since she managed to get it dirty after not all that long; for that very reason, they had wisely invested in multiple white ones which they could easily bleach clean. The unknown bite on Rosie’s arm had also been noticed by him, except the small red dot didn’t send him into the same spiralling panic that it had for Taylor. Harry simply kissed it better for her and moved on.

With a lack of better ideas, Harry mostly just talked to Rosie. He held her, since she still complained whenever she didn’t have anyone coddling her, and he told her a long-winded story in his low, dulcet tones. While someone who could actually talk might’ve told him to hurry the heck up to the point, Rosie didn’t have any choice but to listen. His voice seemed to soothe her, though; that was all he was really after.

There was still a point where Rosie wouldn’t settle, despite his comforting, bouncing embrace. She frowned up at him, humming, “MmmmmmMMMMMMM!” in which he couldn’t tell if she was only trying to vocalise her discomfort or if she was trying to say she wanted her mommy instead. Harry really didn’t want to disturb Taylor, though; he had come to help, not sit and watch.

A long many hours passed before Taylor came back downstairs again on her own accord. She slept restlessly, subconsciously expecting to be woken up by her baby at any moment, but it was enough to recharge her. Yawning, in the fresh pyjamas she had changed into after her refreshing shower, she plodded downstairs to find relieving silence.

Stretched out on the couch, Harry had Rosie swaddled up in a blanket – swaddling her had been his solution in calming her down. It had worked; when Taylor came down, Rosie was asleep in Harry’s arms. Actually _asleep_.

“You two look comfy,” Taylor jested when she came to perch on the edge of the coffee table, pulling her sleeves down over her hands.

“We are,” Harry smiled at her; the bundle of baby lying against his chest was keeping him warm. “How’re you feeling?”

“How is she?” she asked instead, finding that much more imperative. He smiled; he should’ve expected that.

“Alright, I think. Bit grumpy, but can’t really blame her for that. At least she’s sleeping now, that should help.”

“Did the swaddling help get her to sleep? God, I should’ve tried that more, but she just felt so hot and she was squirming out when I tried, so I just– but maybe it–”

“’S alright, Taylor. She’s okay; you don’t have to worry about what you didn’t do.”

“Easier said than done,” she muttered, rubbing an irritated eye. She really should’ve put her glasses on, when she woke and decided against contacts again. “You didn’t have to come all this way, y’know. We would’ve been okay.”

“I know. But I didn’t want you to have to go through this on your own,” Harry told her gently, and she sighed, gazing at him fondly.

“How did I get so lucky?”

Harry broke out with a grin – she was _definitely_ so lucky – and held up an inviting arm for her to come join her on the sofa. It took a bit of careful manoeuvring, readjusting Rosie without disturbing her, but Taylor managed to climb over and squeeze herself in to lie on her side beside Harry. She tucked in cosily, gently taking the hand that Rosie had managed to pop out of her wrappings and rubbing her thumb over the back of it affectionately. He really needn’t have come, but god, she was so glad he had.

“I’m sorry you’re missing out on time with your family,” Taylor said quietly. The extra days he had between shows had been intended for him to see his family in London; even though she hadn’t asked him to come, she felt guilty for taking that time away from him. If she hadn’t called him…

“’S alright. I told mum what’s going on, she understands.”

“Give her an extra hug for me, okay? I didn’t mean to ruin your plans.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, love.”

“Technically, it was Rosie who did the ruining,” she pointed out in such a blunt tone that he couldn’t help but laugh. The sound made her smile, nuzzling her face against his shoulder. He hadn’t the time to shower after his show; his familiar manly scent offered her some comfort.

“You must be tired,” he said, amused.

“I’m fucking exhausted, babe.”

They shared the workload for as long as Harry could stay. He made them something to eat when Rosie woke up kicking, and they took turns cuddling her, feeding her and changing her. Taylor feared she might be taking a turn for the worse again during the night, but after a rather disgusting mess, Rosie managed to get to sleep again. She tried to get Harry to rest, too, but he insisted that he could save it for the plane ride.

Not that it quite worked out that way: Harry nodded off on the couch, while Taylor held onto Rosie, who didn’t seem to be interested in doing anything other than playing with her own fingers. She’d done that a lot, since she had figured out that they were her own and she had the power to make them move.

Sneezing twice in a row, Rosie looked up at Taylor with wide eyes, as if stunned that _she_ had made that sound. It had startled Taylor, too, and she smiled down at her daughter, gently stroking her pinkened cheek. “Bless you, Rosie,” she said sweetly, bopping the tip of her nose lightly. “Feel better, baby?”

“Mmm,” Rosie hummed, stretching her arm upwards. Taylor leaned in closer to her, and the little hand grabbed at her nose, making her giggle.

“Aww, you– oh, honey, no, get your fingers out mommy’s nose, please.” Taylor smiled as she extracted her nose from the baby’s grip, reaching for a tissue to wipe Rosie’s hand clean, as well as her nose, to try to help keep her from sneezing again. Perhaps now she was getting a cold – _that_ Taylor could more comfortably handle.

It seemed more like it, after many long hours. Rosie’s temperature had normalised, and she began to sound more sniffly rather than screechy. Understandably, she didn’t seem to _like_ it, but at least she was more relaxed about it.

Thank god. Taylor didn’t think she could’ve handled much more of it.

Harry stayed for as long as he could get away with before he would be dangerously close to being late to his own show; they arranged for her private jet to take him back to London more conveniently than a commercial flight. A part of him really wanted to stay, to make sure both of his girls were definitely going to be okay, but he knew he couldn’t. No way would Taylor let him, anyway.

Rosie was still asleep, transferred to her cot, when he had to say goodbye (Taylor was cringing over her precious sleep schedule being thrown off and was praying Rosie would easily slip back into it), and he kissed her on the forehead, murmuring a quiet wish for her health and an “I love you”. He gave her an extra kiss on her cheek for good measure.

Back downstairs, Harry gave Taylor a long hug. Goodbye didn’t have to be so hard this time; they had barely had the chance to properly catch up, their focus solely on their daughter.

Last minute was all they had; it would be enough.

“I’m sorry I threatened you with a knife,” Taylor finally thought to say, when she pulled back to look at him, her arms still around his neck and his hands still on her waist. It made him laugh, and she couldn’t help from smiling back.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he returned, his expression holding cheekiness as he added, “I would’ve quite liked to see you use it, though.”

“Nice to know you find the thought of being stabbed attractive,” she replied dryly, which brought on his dimples as he laughed again.

“I’ll let you know when I land. Let me know how Rosie’s doing, ‘kay?”

“Of course.”

“Give your mum a call, too. I’m sure she’ll come by; you don’t have to be on your own.”

“I know. And thanks again for coming, Harry, really. You really didn’t have to, and I,” she sighed, “I really appreciate it. It means a lot.”

“I’d do anything for you, darling.”

They hadn’t realised that for the whole time Harry had been over, however short, they hadn’t actually properly kissed. He had kissed her cheek and the top of her head, but not her lips, not until now. It hadn’t felt right before, when their baby wasn’t well, but now…

Now they clutched onto each other as it got intense very quickly. Neither of them was feeling romantic; it was need that had him pressing her up against the wall, almost knocking a picture frame. The need to find comfort in each other, to feel better physically as if it could drain away all their stresses, if only for a few minutes.

There was no romance in a quick fuck against the wall of the entryway; neither quite recalled the moment they had each decided that was what they wanted, but neither regretted it. Taylor found the stability she needed in having him inside her, in his commanding thrusts. The wall was cold against her ass, but she couldn’t find it in her to care, not when he gave it to her like _that_ , groaning urgently with his own need.

Harry nearly apologised after, fearing that he had forced her into something she hadn’t really wanted, but the words faded when she met his eyes and her secret smile, the _I-can’t-believe-we-just-did-that_ smile she wore only for him, brightened her face and she looked more relaxed than she had the whole time he had been there.

Running her fingers up into his hair, Taylor couldn’t stop herself from starting to giggle. “We’ve still got it,” she declared, appearing rather pleased with that realisation, and Harry grinned back at her.

“Always, darling.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

In a couple days, Rosie was over her upset and had found something new to whine about: she was beginning to start teething, and she wanted to let everyone know it.

“All better, baby,” Taylor always smiled at her, after routinely applying soothing gel to her gums. “No more hurty.”

It was easier to deal with, in any case. She hated seeing her baby in pain, but incoming teeth wasn’t so emotionally straining as seeing her sick.

Harry had made it to London with time to spare before his show; he had slept on the plane, but he was still exhausted when he got off, needing a good long rest in a plush bed to fully recharge (preferably in his own bed, with his girl, but we can’t have everything). Nevertheless, he had put on an energetic show as always – and had unintentionally given Taylor another small gift.

A small mention that their little one wasn’t doing well (and a subsequent joke that it was a good thing his audience wasn’t up close enough to smell the baby sick lingering on him) had naturally been caught on camera, which had sparked #GetWellRosalie to trend on Twitter. It had started with his fans and had extended to hers, and Taylor hadn’t quite been able to believe that it was _her_ Rosalie that they were talking about. She knew that not everyone who contributed actually liked her ( _that_ was an understatement), and she really appreciated that they had set that aside to wish Rosie well regardless.

Harry’s thank you tweet, signed off with ‘H & T x’, didn’t entirely go down well with everyone, but that didn’t matter to them. Their little girl was better – that was all that was truly important.

As the weather grew cooler with impending winter, Taylor began to worry that Rosie wasn’t going to be warm enough, despite the heated house and the stack of woolly clothes she had. Whenever she took her out, she always fitted her with socks, mittens and a beanie, which as well as saving her from cold, also made her look so freaking adorable; Taylor couldn’t stop smiling at her. The mittens seemed to have a funny way of coming off, but that was an easy fix.

She sent Harry a _lot_ of pictures of their bundled up baby, Rosie’s dimpled smile always making him long to return home again. There was the chance for one more trip back for Thanksgiving before his last set of tour dates; they would be okay with their daily FaceTime sessions until he was home for good.

With him gone, Taylor found herself wondering if Harry really did consider this his home now. It was still technically _her_ house, filled with mostly her things, though he had added some of his own belongings around the place. She couldn’t look at the Gucci cushions in the lounge without thinking of him, and often hugged one to her chest when she watched TV on her own; they were both a reminder that he was gone and a comfort that he would come back.

Maybe finding somewhere new, somewhere they could make their own together, as a family, would be good for them.

And maybe her left hand would look nice with a sparkly ring, too.

Taylor found herself perusing through some Polaroids on a rainy Thursday night, sitting on her bedroom floor with a throw blanket around her shoulders. It had been raining on and off all day, and she could hear an approaching storm in the distance, the occasional flash of lightning quickly brightening around the curtained windows. The sound of rain was calming, as she sat comfortably inside with a cup of hot chocolate (she had stocked up on marshmallows) and was free simply to listen.

Olivia joined her, curling up on her lap and purring as Taylor stroked her, offering herself as an extra ball of warmth. With Rosie soundly asleep in the nursery, Taylor felt a quiet warmth within her, at peace with herself and where things were at.

Of course, she missed Harry, but as she looked through the Polaroids she had taken over the last few months, she was smiling to herself. He wasn’t someone who liked to take a lot of pictures of himself, yet he let her sneak plenty of photos of him. Taylor adored the Polaroids she had of him, the soft focus flattering him wonderfully. Then there were the ones of them together, where he’d smile for her and kiss her on her cheek, and those she had taken of him and Rosie. He was always so precious with her; it was those she smiled over the most.

The secret Polaroid she had of him bare was tucked away in a journal in the drawer of the bedside table on her side, where it wouldn’t get mixed up with any others and be accidentally shown to anyone. She looked at it occasionally when she was alone at night and longed for his warm body, and knew that he did the same with the one he had of her. Much more often, by the sounds of his texts and how they talked when Rosie was set down to sleep during their video chats. They were a lot more honest with each other these days, in all facets of themselves.

“I should surprise him again sometime, huh?” Taylor mused, scratching Olivia behind her ears the way she liked it. “We both deserve it.”

Sexy FaceTime sessions weren’t something she had particularly imagined herself getting into, but with Harry… Well, there was a lot she hadn’t expected she would have that she now did with him.

The storm was getting closer, the rumbling of thunder growing louder as the menacing clouds approached. Taylor enjoyed listening to the sound of it from the dry safety of indoors, as if she were in her own private bubble as mother nature lashed rain against the windows and clapped resounding dominance overhead. And if it worsened enough to cut the power, well, she was already prepared, with a vanilla scented candle already alight on the dresser, and plenty more stored in drawers downstairs.

What she _hadn’t_ considered, perhaps a little stupidly, was that she wasn’t the only one in the house experiencing it, and that a baby was going to have quite a different outlook to someone who actually, y’know, _knew_ what a storm was.

With the first house-shaking clap of thunder, came a sudden shriek from the neighbouring nursery. Surprisingly, that startled Taylor more than the thunder had.

She loathed to disturb a contented cat, but she had no choice but to coerce Olivia off her lap so she could go calm Rosie’s screaming. Olivia didn’t seem too bothered; she just curled up in the throw blanket Taylor left behind.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay,” Taylor cooed when she slipped into the nursery to find Rosie thrashing in distress in her cot. Immediately she scooped her up and held her protectively against her chest, jiggling her comfortingly as she continued to scream and kick her little legs. “It’s just a storm, baby, you’re okay.”

Rosie remained unconvinced, releasing a deafening shriek in Taylor’s ear as another clap of thunder boomed above them. She kicked faster, one tightly balled fist striking Taylor in the throat, almost making her want to laugh at the thought that, if she held Rosie away from her, she would look like an angry pinwheel.

Setting aside the unhelpful, albeit amusing, image, Taylor spoke gentle reassurances as she carried Rosie over to the change table. She had wet herself, and since Taylor doubted she would be able to settle her down quickly, she had little choice in trying to change her while she continued to wriggle around wildly.

It was no easy task, but Taylor had near five months experience now, and managed to button Rosie’s wondersuit back up with a fresh nappy on underneath without too much hassle. She brought Rosie, still crying, into her bedroom, returning to her spot on the floor. Olivia eyed them with disapproval, her peace suddenly disturbed by Rosie’s noisy appearance, but the blanket she had settled on was cosy enough to make her stick around anyway.

With the storm continuing to rumble on overheard, Rosie struggled to settle; she had no idea what was going on, only that it was loud and she didn’t like it. She found comfort in Taylor’s arms, though, slowly beginning to relax in the safe embrace of her mother.

“You don’t have to be scared, baby,” Taylor reassured her, holding her head against her shoulder consolingly. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I promise.”

Rosie still squirmed, but at least she calmed down enough to stop crying. The flashes of lightning that illuminated the windows’ edges gave Taylor warning for when she would inevitably wail again at the crash of thunder, and she continued to rub her back and speak in a gentle tone.

It was going to be a long winter if Rosie didn’t get used to the sound of thunderstorms.

“ _Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening,_ ” Taylor sang to her, giggling as she realised that was exactly how Harry would be trying to comfort Rosie if he were here.

She continued to sing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ dramatically (was there any other way?) for her, taking her downstairs with a spark of inspiration. Rosie loved being serenaded, and she loved hearing instruments, too; Taylor brought her to the piano, sitting down on the stool and getting Rosie comfortable on her lap. The sound of rain hitting the roof wasn’t so loud downstairs; perhaps that would help, too.

Lifting the lid, Taylor played a few notes one handed, the other firmly holding Rosie safely upright. Rosie mumbled, and she kept going, making it up as she went along in an effort to distract her daughter.

Taylor made up lyrics to go along with it; it was more of a story that she told through singing, about a little girl who didn’t like storms but who learnt to dance in the rain. Just as she had hoped, the sound of her voice soothed Rosie, who craned her head up at her to look at her with mystified eyes.

She started trying to reach for the keys herself, stretching her arms out as far as she could reach. Gently, Taylor folded back the mittens conveniently sewn into the wondersuit, freeing Rosie’s hands, which immediately started hitting the piano keys as soon as she moved her close enough. The resulting sounds made Rosie giggle, and Taylor beamed down at her, relieved.

“Let me teach you something, baby.”

Holding both her arms, Taylor guided Rosie into playing different notes, naming each one for her. She taught her how to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, giggling when Rosie suddenly let out a delighted little shriek while she sang for her. Rosie definitely didn’t care about the storm anymore, the worst of it having passed over them, no longer so menacing.

Letting go of her hands and holding her around the middle, Taylor encouraged Rosie to have a go at repeating it on her own. She didn’t get it right, of course, but she enjoyed it, which was all that mattered.

Taylor soon lifted her up, turning her so Rosie was facing her when she sat her down on the piano keys. She dropped her jaw playfully at the mashed sound of notes hit all at once, and Rosie smiled back at her, giggly. Oh, gosh, her dimpled smile was so adorable, and she looked so sweet in her pink butterfly wondersuit, Taylor never _ever_ wanted to let her go.

“Aren’t you talented, hey? My beautiful shining star; I love you so much,” Taylor grinned, kissing the tip of Rosie’s nose, which made her kick her legs happily. Her sleepiness had evidently vanished. “You’re all awake now, aren’t you? You should really be going back to bed, y’know?”

That idea didn’t seem to appeal to Rosie anymore, as she continued to wiggle her feet. Her head turned suddenly, though, at the unexpected sound of a strong gust of wind rattling the windows. Her wide eyes made Taylor worry she was about to start bawling again, so she rubbed her back comfortingly, getting her attention back.

“Rosie,” Taylor cooed, smiling as she looked back at her again. Ever since Rosie had started responding to her own name, Taylor couldn’t get enough of it. Her baby was growing so fast! “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s just the wind; we’re safe in here.”

Little arms reaching out for her, Taylor was more than happy to oblige, picking Rosie up and holding her against her chest in a hug. Rosie wrapped her arms around her neck, and Taylor closed her eyes in contentment, relishing another moment of loving peace with her daughter.

It was near midnight, though, well past Rosie’s bedtime. Letting her stay up wouldn’t likely be detrimental to her sleeping routine, but Taylor did like to try to keep her to it, in the hopes it would stick. Rosie still didn’t sleep overnight for as long as she would prefer, but she would get there eventually.

Taylor decided to give her a bottle before trying to put her back to bed, to help lull her first. With Rosie on her hip, she made one up for her in the kitchen, making sure it wasn’t too hot before taking her back upstairs to the nursery.

Wrapping her up in a blanket, Taylor cradled Rosie as she brought the bottle to her lips, which Rosie was eager to drink up, her small hands reaching to hold the bottle too and her eyes closing happily. Taylor cherished the gentle sight, though she missed nursing her all the time; struggling with it as the months went on, she had known it was time to admit she couldn’t do it all on her own. Before she knew it, bottles would be all Rosie had, and already she still missed the special connection with her young daughter.

Rosie didn’t seem phased by the transition to sometimes having formula instead; she was still receiving as many cuddles as she had been before, which was all that mattered to her. She always loved a good cuddle.

It was where she felt safest. Especially in her mother’s arms, Rosie found the most comfort in being held, in a warm and loving embrace. It was easy for her to grow sleepy again now, with Taylor softly singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ to her once more. Eyelids growing heavy, her light lashes fanned out against her porcelain skin, her lips parting slightly as she relaxed. Rain still poured outside, yet she no longer felt threatened by it. She was okay again.

“My little star,” Taylor whispered, tucking the blanket a little higher up Rosie’s chest. “I love you so much.”

That could never encompass just how much Rosalie meant to her. She was everything to Taylor; she held Taylor’s heart in her precious little hands. There was not a thing Taylor wouldn’t do to keep her safe and sound.

“ _Wish you could stay this little_ ,” Taylor sang slowly and softly, as she stroked her finger fondly against Rosie’s round cheek. “ _Won’t let nobody hurt you… Won’t let no one break your heart…_ ”

At nineteen, Taylor hadn’t known what it was one day going to be like hearing ‘Never Grow Up’ when she had a child of her own. It tugged at her heartstrings, thinking about how the baby in her arms was going to grow up into a beautiful young woman, that there were going to be things along the way that she wouldn’t be able to fix with some kisses and a cuddle. But it warmed her, too, to know that she was going to be there for Rosie every step of the way, no matter what.

She was still growing, too, and she doubted herself and questioned how good of a mother she really was, but it was in moments like this, with the soothing sound of rain in the background and her child sleeping contentedly in her arms, where Taylor felt like it was all going to work out.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“Are you alright, Taylor?’

Loosening her grip on the pram, Taylor glanced back at her mother with a small smile. “I’m good.”

Crowds were something Taylor tended to avoid where possible, for fear of being mobbed by people who loved her obsessively or hated her with a passion. She hadn’t arranged to be accompanied by a bodyguard – it wasn’t often she did, when she was just spending some low-key time out, and it didn’t get much more normal than checking out a market with her mom and her daughter.

Even so, she was a little nervous when they arrived at a nearby elementary school for their fundraising fair, finding the oval crawling with people browsing the market stalls. The fact that she had been conditioned to be apprehensive about going out in case she was seen bothered her; she firmly shoved the thought aside as she pushed the pram across the path.

With Thanksgiving in the coming week, and Christmas only a month away, there were plenty out in search of unique gifts for the holidays. That was the same reason that Taylor and her mom were there – plus, they wanted to spend some time together, anyway.

Taylor began to regret opting to wear a pair of her glasses in the few short minutes it took them to get sorted from the car and walk down to the oval. While they offered a subtle sort of disguise, it was spitting with rain and her vision was blurred by odd drops on the lenses; she had to keep wiping them with her sleeve so her vision wasn’t speckled. Not to mention that Rosie had a penchant for grabbing them whenever they were within her reach – she had already broken her favourite pair, and Taylor was a tad annoyed to find the particular frame discontinued. Having to regularly replace her glasses was within her means, but it didn’t mean she wanted to _do_ it.

Rosie seemed to be enjoying her outing so far. During the car ride, she had made funny noises to herself, just because she could. Now tucked up in a blanket in her pram, she had quietened down again, as she stared up to watch her mom in fascination as she pushed her around, her kitty toy lying beside her. The canopy of the pram was pulled over to keep her dry from the light rain.

They wandered around for a bit, without appearing to be noticed. It was easier to blend in with the other families – albeit Taylor was tall and gorgeous, her jeans alone costing more than anyone else’s entire outfits. (They made her ass look great, so what if they cost a couple hundred dollars?)

As it was whenever she went out with her mom – or any of her family, really – Taylor felt a twang of guilt for being the reason that it couldn’t be completely normal. Even if they weren’t approached, or photographed, they would inevitably be stared at. She never had liked putting the ones she loved through that.

It came with the territory, though, and really, when it came down to it, Taylor wouldn’t trade the gifts her career had given her.

They browsed market stalls, taking their time just as everyone else. Taylor had difficulty in pushing the pram smoothly over the grass, and tried her best not to run over anyone’s toes, same as any of the other moms. And for that while, as she looked over handmade jewellery and soaps and cards, Taylor truly felt just like any of them.

“Shh, baby,” Taylor hushed Rosie as she briefly leaned out of her view to peer closer at a display of necklaces, Rosie whining at her momentary disappearance. “Mommy’s just looking.”

She kept Rosie entertained by putting her kitty toy in her hands, though she had to maintain an eye on it to ensure Rosie didn’t throw it overboard. The chances of finding it again before someone took it for themselves would be slim.

On their first trip around, Andrea sensibly held off on purchasing anything until she had seen all on offer, which Taylor wasn’t quite able to emulate. She picked up a jar of homemade strawberry jam for Harry (and an apricot one for her mom, which she managed to sneakily buy when she wasn’t looking), but it was one stall selling baby clothes that really swayed her.

“Look!” Taylor was practically bouncing as she held up a little knitted sweater. “Mom! Mom, isn’t it the cutest?”

The cream sweater, adorned with a picture of a fox, _was_ adorable, and Andrea smiled as she glanced over at it. “Will that fit her?”

“I think so.”

Rosie looked wide eyed as Andrea scooped her up out of the pram and she got to have a proper look at her unfamiliar surroundings. Mumbling, she grabbed a fistful of Andrea’s coat, while Taylor held the sweater up against her to check the sizing. It was a bit long for the moment, but that was no worry.

“Perfect. She’ll grow into it,” Taylor happily observed. “What do you think, baby? You like it?”

The woman attending to the stall was smiling at them as Taylor kissed Rosie on the cheek and admired the sweater again. She recognised Taylor – not at first, but her voice had given her away – though had no intention of making it uncomfortable for her.

“Did you make these yourself?” Taylor turned to ask her, which caught the woman by surprise.

“Yeah, I made all of them. My mom taught me how to knit.”

“They’re so beautiful,” Taylor smiled back at her genuinely. “And _soft_. I want a matching one.”

“Maybe you could make one,” Andrea suggested, and she just shrugged.

“I’ve only made little things.” As she looked back over the clothes displayed on the table, though, she brightened with a sudden idea. “I could try making Harry a beanie for Christmas! I think he’d like that. I’ll have to pull out one of his others, so I know how big his head is.”

“He doesn’t have a big head.”

“Well it’s bigger than Rosie’s, isn’t it?”

They graced the woman at the stall with an unexpected insight into the Actual Life of Taylor Swift, which refreshingly wasn’t as glamourous as one might assume. Rosie didn’t really _need_ any more clothes, anyway, but Taylor could hardly help herself when it came to baby garments.

Eventually, Taylor managed to decide on the fox sweater and another with delicate little flowers knitted on the front, supporting the artist without going overboard. She thanked the woman again, and tried to get Rosie to thank her too, only she hid her face shyly instead.

With her purchases tucked safely in her baby bag, they stopped to grab coffees from another stand, Taylor buying a bag of roasted peanuts on their way to find somewhere to sit for a little while. They spied an unoccupied bench nearby, and Rosie was happy to be propped up on Taylor’s knee, sucking on a teething ring instead of more of Taylor’s hair while the women sipped their warming drinks.

They discussed their plans for Thanksgiving: a family dinner, Taylor was going to help with the preparation, as usual. Austin was coming, as was Harry, who had only a few days before he was off again for the last leg of his tour. He didn’t _have_ to come – Taylor would’ve understood if he decided to pass on the holiday he didn’t traditionally celebrate – but Harry knew what it meant to Taylor. He wasn’t going to miss their first Thanksgiving as a family over a bit of jet lag.

“I want to ask him to have Christmas with us, but…” Taylor glanced down at Rosie, bouncing her on her knee a little to make her smile. “I don’t want to take him away from his family, y’know? I feel bad enough about him missing out on more time with them when Rosie was sick.”

Her mom took another sip of her coffee, considering. “Well… if they’re interested, they could come over here–”

“Are we ready for a joint Christmas?” Taylor interjected, her tone doubtful. Not that she didn’t like the sound of the idea, but… Well, it was rather a large step, wasn’t it?

“I know that we had… _someone_ stay with us around Christmas in the past, but that’s not the same thing,” she added, avoiding specifics that weren’t necessary, anyway. She barely thought about her exes, especially these days.

“What do _you_ want?” Andrea asked the main thing.

“Just to be with him,” Taylor answered simply, at the moment Rosie dropped her red teething ring and started wailing. Keeping a careful hold on her, Taylor reached down to pick it up, though didn’t offer it back now that it was dirty. Instead, she fished the bottle she had packed out of the baby bag, which Rosie easily accepted.

“I want Rosie’s first Christmas to be with the both of us,” she went on, softer, once resettled. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings in the process.”

“Your dad and I will support you in whatever you decide,” her mom reminded her. Of course she knew that.

Taylor smiled at her thankfully regardless, grateful for the reminder. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

Of the various stalls the fair had to offer, there were some activities to keep kids entertained, too. A craft stand, with tables laid out with paper and pencils to colour with, as well as a face painter in the neighbouring stall, the most exciting was the petting zoo. It was only a small fenced off section, but it had plenty of baby animals running around inside, happy to be patted and really happy to be overfed by copious amounts of children.

While Rosie wasn’t even old enough to stand up on her own, Taylor decided to buy a cup of grain and take her inside for her first time. Partly, it was an excuse to have another go herself, more socially acceptable when she was accompanying a small child.

Andrea watched from the other side of the fence, looking after the pram while Taylor wormed her way into the farm animal-filled pen, finding a free spot to crouch down and hold Rosie up.

“Can you hold this, baby?” Taylor asked her, carefully putting the feed cup in Rosie’s hands. She wasn’t sure if it was too heavy for her; she kept her free hand on it underneath, in case Rosie decided to let go. “Very good, baby. Now, you wanna hold it out, so you can feed them. What do you wanna feed first?”

A small duck was the closest animal to them. Taylor tried to coax it closer; it surprised Rosie when it quacked at her, making her squeal a little.

“It’s okay – it’s just a ducky. Remember bath ducky? Wanna feed ducky?” she prompted, guiding Rosie to hold the cup lower for the duck. It got frightened by an incoming piglet, though, quacking away with its blue green wings shimmering.

The piglet made a beeline for the cup, greedily shoving its snout in before anything else had the chance. Another came running up and started sniffing around, nudging the other before turning to sniff Rosie. It had her giggling, a sweet little sound, and she reached a hand out to try to pat it.

“Be careful of its mouth, Rosie,” Taylor warned, maintaining a firm hold on Rosie to keep her upright, her other gripping her feed cup. “You don’t want it to bite you.”

It was only a friendly piglet, though, curious of all its visitors, attracted by Rosie’s small size and gentle baby scent, as well as the food she was (sort of) holding. Rosie smiled down at them happily, rather intrigued herself; she was only really used to being around cats, had been upset by the few dogs she had met – since one of Andrea’s dogs was significantly larger than Rosie, she could hardly be blamed for it. Still, it brought on jokes about Rosie being just like her mom – and Taylor was very pleased about that.

Rosie got to meet a rabbit and a lamb; she appeared to like the soft fur of each. “Be gentle, like at home,” Taylor guided her, making sure that she was never rough with any of the animals; Rosie was better with them than some of the other kids in the pen, perhaps because she was constantly being watched. If she wasn’t, she would’ve latched herself onto the lamb in an adoring hug, like she tried to do with the cats at home, and as cute as it would’ve been, the lamb might not have been quite so much of a fan. Rosie settled for rubbing her cheek against the lamb’s soft side instead, as if it were a moving woolly pillow.

The oddest experience she had was meeting a young goat. Taylor got her to give it the rest of the feed they had left, though Rosie wasn’t so interested in feeding once she had gotten into patting. The goat nibbled at the remaining grain, before lifting its head to come face to face with Rosie. It stared at her, as if considering what she was, and, much to their surprise, decided to taste her, giving her a lick on the cheek.

Rosie screwed up her face, debating whether she was disturbed enough to cry. The sound of Taylor’s laughter helped ease her, though, as did the kiss on the top of her head that her mother gave her.

“I think it likes you, sweetie,” Taylor beamed, while Rosie still frowned adorably, not understanding why her new friend had just licked her.

They left shortly after, making room for others to have a turn. Taylor held Rosie on her hip and made sure she didn’t stick her hands in her mouth before she could reach her mom to grab a wipe for them.

“Did you see her with the lamb?” Taylor grinned, as she rounded back to Andrea. “And the goat – I can’t believe it really licked her; I didn’t know they did that. You’re just so _cute_ , aren’t you, Rosie?”

Taylor kissed her repetitively on her cheek, which made Rosie smile and happily kick her feet.

Giving Rosie another of her firsts, they got in line for face painting, once Taylor decided that she wasn’t really too young to have it done. The painter, dressed as a fairy, was delighted to have such a young girl as a customer. She was particularly amused after painting two little ladybirds on Rosie’s cheek and started doing a matching design on Taylor’s, where Rosie grabbed at Taylor’s glasses as she held her up on her lap. Taylor tried to keep still for the fairy painter, hard as it was while having her glasses pulled off her face and shoved in a baby’s mouth. God, she could see the drool dribbling off the frame, not to mention all that on the left lens; it was so gross.

Taylor took them back for herself and cleaned them up on the hem of her sweater, after thanking the painter kindly. They stopped again out of the way, where she got her mom to take a picture of the two of them together, matching glittery red ladybirds on show.

Of course, she sent the best one to Harry, the one where they were both smiling for the camera, with the message, _‘Your daughter got licked by a goat today xxx’_

Rosie put her hand on the screen of her phone, patting nonsensically, and Taylor couldn’t wait to video chat with Harry later on. She couldn’t wait for him to come home, where he could join in on these days, too.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

On a cloudy Sunday, Taylor woke with a brightness betraying the wintery weather. It could rain all it wanted, but it wasn’t going to dampen her mood, not this Sunday.

Harry was coming home.

With a rush of romance, and the maternal warmth of being about to have her family back together again, Taylor had chosen to surprise Harry this time. His last visit had been brief though enjoyable, and she wanted to do something special for him, to give him a proper welcome home.

His flight wasn’t landing until midday, and he had a car arranged to drop him off, saving her the drive; Taylor spent the morning with Rosie, getting the both of them ready. Only one of them wasn’t being quite so cooperative.

After breakfast, Taylor gave Rosie a bath to get her all nice and clean and fresh, her soft skin smelling of the milk and honey lotion she massaged into her. Rosie enjoyed it, as usual, but once she was dressed in stripy coveralls, she got a bit… needy.

They played together in the nursery for a little while, in which Taylor hoped to wear Rosie out for the first of her normal naps, so she could get dressed up in peace. And it sort of worked: after having a story read to her, Rosie did manage to doze off for a half hour or so, and she was happy to be fed when she woke. After that, though, she was expecting to have Taylor’s full attention, and when that wasn’t the case, she was vocal in her disapproval.

Taylor had laid a blanket with some different toys out on her bedroom floor for Rosie, so she could keep an eye on her while she did her own thing. That was nothing new, and it kept Rosie entertained for a short while, as Taylor got changed into the outfit she had planned – a bit of a dicey decision, in case Rosie ended up being sick on it, but she was taking her chances. She had a back-up outfit, anyway – a mother of a young child had to.

She didn’t want to be _too_ overly dressed up – Taylor knew she didn’t _really_ have to try to impress Harry, by this point, but she still wanted to look good for him on his first day back home. He’d be staying for the foreseeable future; he deserved to have her make some effort, before all the days of lounging around in sweatshirts and zero make-up returned.

With a pair of smooth black leggings, Taylor slipped into a berry red cashmere sweater. It felt luxuriously soft against her skin, and she hoped – well, she _knew_ – Harry would want to touch it, too. And if he touched it enough, he would take it off to find she had on a lingerie set underneath, the very one she had worn the night she saw his show. Seeing it in person again, rather than in just a Polaroid, would hopefully be _very_ pleasing.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Taylor checked herself on different angles, to make sure she really did look okay. The high waisted leggings accentuated her long legs, a feature he had always been drawn to, while the sweater was looser, sitting nicely over her chest. She had lost weight ever since she had stopped breastfeeding so much, some of the baby weight her body had been hanging onto no longer needed, and while she wasn’t as thin or toned as she used to be, she felt pretty good about herself. Not perfect – she doubted she would ever be completely confident in her appearance, but she was happy in her body, the one that had made her beautiful daughter, and she’d be damned if anyone told her she shouldn’t be.

Though Taylor was thinking she was looking nice without being too obvious in her considerable deliberation in her styling, Rosie didn’t seem too convinced, as she startled Taylor with an unexpected little shriek. She had pushed herself up on her hands and was watching Taylor, her rattle discarded beside her.

“What, baby? You think daddy’s not gonna like it?” Taylor challenged, raising a brow at her daughter. Rosie made another whiney sound, pleased when Taylor came to kneel down beside her and stroke a hand over her head affectionately. She wanted to be picked up, yet Taylor only gave her her rattle back, shaking it first to recapture her interest – which worked for a moment or so, until Taylor got back up and turned away from her.

“ _What?_ ” she sighed, when Rosie whined again. Rosie tossed her rattle and began slapping her hands on the blanket underneath her impatiently; she knew nobody would leave her like that for long.

Obligingly scooping her up, Taylor bounced Rosie on her hip, hoping for a quick fix. “Wanna play in your jumper? You can practice jumping on your own while I do my make-up – how does that sound?”

Taylor thought it sounded nice, but Rosie wasn’t so enthusiastic. She didn’t mind it when Taylor set it up for her on top of the blanket and she was there to help her bounce once she was set in, but she hadn’t really gotten the hang of bouncing in it by herself yet. Most of the time, when left unattended, she ended up just standing in it, watching her surrounds, which probably did her _some_ good, at least. On this occasion, she didn’t seem inclined to agree.

Having barely managed to apply a primer to her face, Taylor was startled again when Rosie stared fake crying; no tears, just the sound. Taylor began to wonder if there was something wrong with her, or if she was just being fussy – either way, it got her to come back and pay attention to her, since she really couldn’t just ignore her daughter’s cries.

“Rosie, sweetie,” Taylor said gently, as she kneeled down and cupped her baby’s cheeks. It quickly quelled her crying. “Mommy wants to look nice for daddy. Now, _you_ can just put on a pretty dress and he’ll think you’re the cutest thing in the entire world,” – she kissed Rosie’s forehead – “but I need to put in a bit more effort. So can you please be good for me? We can play after, I promise.”

It wasn’t something she particularly wanted to get into the habit of, but in a bid to keep Rosie occupied while she focused on herself for a little while, since she clearly wasn’t content in entertaining herself, Taylor set her laptop up in front of her and opened YouTube. She loaded a One Direction music video for her, turning it up so she could hear it over by the dresser; some music was always fun when getting ready.

“Here, sweetie, watch daddy and his friends,” Taylor said, kissing the top of Rosie’s head before stepping away from her again.

The sounds she heard from Rosie turned to little giggles, as she became fixated on the videos of younger versions of Harry. Taylor found herself smiling to herself, as she applied her foundation and brushed on setting powder; while she had undoubtedly missed Harry and was excited to have him back, she had a feeling Rosie felt the same. His connection with Rosie couldn’t be the same as the mother/daughter bond that Taylor had, but he gave her something different, something important. It was going to be good to see them together all the time again.

“This one’s about me, y’know,” Taylor playfully informed her when ‘Perfect’ came on, glancing over her shoulder to find Rosie bouncing a little in her joy of watching videos of her father. If only she had thought to sit her down in front of them earlier; it would’ve saved her on multiple occasions she had been here alone.

As so often was the way with young children, Rosie’s attention didn’t remain forever, and just as Taylor was nearly done with her make-up, she started to get restless again. Taylor managed to add the final touch of her favourite red lipstick before Rosie got really whiney again, though, which she considered a win. She danced her way over to the tune of ‘Kiss You’, choosing to ignore the weird look Rosie gave her.

“All done, baby,” Taylor smiled at her assuredly, once she kneeled back down in front of her again. She readjusted the chain around her neck, making sure the clasp was at the back of her neck; the locket was a familiar weight against her décolletage. “What do you think? You think daddy’ll like me?”

And, suddenly, Rosie scrunched up her face in the way that could only mean she was filling up her diaper, and Taylor regretted ever asking.

Once she changed Rosie into a fresh one, making her smell nice once again, Taylor switched her into the new dress she had bought her. Another one of her impulsive baby clothing purchases, it was a tulle affair of black and yellow, making her look adorably like a bumble bee. With black leggings and socks to keep her warm, as well as a matching yellow headband with a flower on it, Rosie was easily the cutest member of the family – and perhaps the cutest baby ever, if you asked Taylor, who looked at her daughter through rose-coloured Mom Glasses.

Downstairs, Taylor got Rosie to ‘help’ her set up the cheesiest part of the whole ordeal. In part, it had been a way to play with Rosie differently, but mostly Taylor really was That Sentimental Girlfriend.

Yesterday afternoon, Taylor had brought out her craft supplies, spreading them out across the kitchen tiles, the floor easier to work on with Rosie. She had taken her out to buy a piece of white poster paper earlier, as well as some groceries they were in need of, and she laid it flat on top of some newspaper, since things were going to get _messy_.

With dollops of different colours on a plate, Taylor taught Rosie how to paint. Sitting behind her to help hold her up, she had dipped Rosie’s hand in the yellow blob of paint and wiped it across the blank page first, and it escalated from there, Rosie shrieking in delight while Taylor held her up above the paper and she got to drag her paint-covered hands all over it. The poster had turned into a rainbow mess, colours blending where Rosie overlapped her handprints. It had taken a careful eye to make sure she didn’t stick her fingers in her mouth; the paint was non-toxic and supposedly easy to wash out, which was a good thing, considering the state of Rosie’s coveralls afterwards.

“You like finger painting, baby?” Taylor had giggled at the reddish blue smear that had ended up down Rosie’s cheek. Her daughter had beamed up at her, and she was excited to be able to do this more once she got bigger.

Taylor had handled the finishing touches that required a more coordinated hand: sprinkling silver glitter over the top of the wet paint, and once that dried, adding with black paint and a brush, ‘ _Welcome Home Daddy!_ ’, in the middle, as well as some bordering stars. It was unnecessary, messy, and terribly cheesy – and Taylor loved it.

She hung it up on a clear space of wall, taping a few pink streamers on either side. Rosie was watching her from the floor – Taylor was trying to test how long Rosie could sit up for on her own at the same time, and she had just taped the last streamer on when she heard crying suddenly start up behind her. Turning back, she found Rosie had face planted, and after all her whining, she could only sigh at the sight.

“Yeah, I’d cry if I couldn’t sit up on my own, too,” Taylor muttered, rubbing Rosie’s back comfortingly once she picked her up.

Luckily, her face was unscathed; her forehead was a bit red at first, having caught the brunt of her fall, but it faded within a few minutes and left no bruises in its wake. Still, she continued to fuss, for reasons that only made sense to her. The worst was when she sneezed right in Taylor’s face, and to feel less disgusted, Taylor had to reason that worse things could’ve come out of her freshly fed mouth.

The morning seemed to have dragged on for an eternity, by the time Taylor sat to have her own lunch. Harry had sent her a text to let her know he had landed, and she counted down the minutes until he arrived over her plate of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. Rosie tried to grab one off the plate she balanced on her lap as they sat together in the lounge, bypassing the light salad she had thought she had ought to have with them, and gave her a moody look when Taylor moved it out of her reach and said, “Nuh uh, you’re not sucking on _my_ nuggets.”

The sound of a car finally pulling up the drive instantly had her insides leaping. She nearly knocked her plate onto the floor, and Rosie mumbled at her again, but what did any of that matter now?

Quickly wiping the corners of Rosie’s mouth with a tissue (she was always equipped with tissues now) to eradicate impending drool, Taylor scooped her up and held her up on her hip as she went to casually meet Harry by the door. _She_ thought it was a nice idea, but it scared the shit out of Harry when he eventually let himself in, juggling luggage, when she cried, “ _Surprise!_ ” as he came through the door. Rather, he _tripped_ through in his fright, and the two of them couldn’t stop laughing over it for a moment too long.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” Taylor grinned at him, helping one-handed to drag his other suitcase inside for him, and it made him laugh again.

“Bloody hell, Tay, you nearly gave me a heart attack. At least you don’t have a knife this time.”

“No, I just have a fussy little baby instead. That can be way more dangerous.”

Leaving his things by the door, Harry raked his hand through his hair, smiling wonderfully at his two girls. It had been a long flight, and his neck was stiff from how he had fallen asleep in his seat, and he couldn’t think of anything better to be coming home to.

“C’mon, you’re telling me our little bumble bee here isn’t being very nice?” Harry took Rosie from her arms, giving her a hug and bouncing her in his own, pressing kisses to her cheek, breathing in her soft baby scent that he had been missing all this time. “I don’t believe it.”

Looking back up, Harry caught the fond expression that warmed Taylor’s features, and he took a step closer, sliding his free arm around her and pulling her in for a long kiss. Now _that_ he had been thinking about the whole plane ride over.

“You look beautiful, Taylor,” Harry admired softly, as she beamed at him, taking his hand to lead him further inside, his own smile suddenly illuminating once he noticed the sign up on the wall. He laughed in his surprise; he had suspected Taylor might bake something in celebration of his return, but he hadn’t been expecting anything bigger. The reminder that she truly cared for him… well, that would always mean a lot to him.

“Rosie did the background,” Taylor eagerly let him know, squeezing his hand, and he really wanted to kiss her again.

“Aren’t you clever, eh?” he said to Rosie instead, who had already grabbed onto the string of his navy blue hoodie and was sucking on the end. He pressed his lips to her cheek again, deciding to let her keep it for now. It wouldn’t take long for him to get tired of having his things covered in drool – but after two months away, with only a few stops home in between, he knew he would rather have it than not.

“She had so much fun, you should try painting with her sometime. It’s _really_ messy, but it’s worth it.”

“Maybe we’ll have to come up with something for your birthday, then,” he suggested, eyes sparkling. And she assured him he didn’t need to make a big deal of her birthday, just like he knew she would – just like they knew he wouldn’t listen.

Taylor wasn’t interested in doing much for her birthday this year. Only a few days away, she was just glad that Harry was going to be here with her. All she really wanted was to be with him and Rosie, have a quiet dinner with her parents later; not make much of a fuss.

“Can I get you anything? We have dinosaur nuggets.”

“God, I’ve missed you.”

While Taylor turned on her toes, smiling all the way to the kitchen, Harry happily flopped down in the lounge with Rosie. Touring had been a blast – he had worried how it would feel different out on his own, but with his new band along for the ride, he hadn’t really been alone. It hadn’t been the same as he was used to, but he had really fucking enjoyed it, almost wishing that he had said yes to adding another leg.

Almost. The baby he helped sit up on top of him as he laid on the sofa was still the main thing stopping him.

Rosie smiled down at him when he pulled a silly face at her, shrieking as he started tickling her. He quickly caught her when she almost toppled backwards in her wriggling, guiding her down to lay on her stomach on top of his chest, just like he had done ever since she was tiny. The warm weight of her was an instant comfort, and Harry rubbed her back with a soft smile on his face. It was good to be home.

Taylor smiled when she popped back in to deliver a glass of lemonade for him and found them already cuddling. Perching on the edge of the coffee table, she reached to smooth out the ruffles of Rosie’s dress, her hand sliding down to touch Harry’s, squeezing lightly.

“You got cosy fast.”

“Should’ve changed out of these jeans first,” Harry belatedly realised, shifting a little uncomfortably. The corner of Taylor’s lips twitched in amusement.

“I love you, babe, and I’ve really missed you, but I’m so not going to take your jeans off and put some sweats on you instead like your personal valet.”

He quirked his eyebrow, challenging. “So you _don’t_ want to take my jeans off?”

“Not with our daughter watching, that’s for sure. Have you no shame?”

“Not particularly.”

Grinning at each other, Taylor patted his hand. “I’m glad to have you back, Harry.”

“That sounded a little sarcastic,” Harry teased, and Taylor simply shrugged, smirking, kissing him on the forehead and stroking Rosie’s head before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“I’ve missed how she does that,” Harry quietly revealed to Rosie, after Taylor left through the doorway. “’S not the same through the phone.”

Forcing himself up a minute or so later, Harry carried Rosie back to collect one of his suitcases, dragging it to the lounge and rummaging for the comfy sweatpants he had taken travelling, saving him from going upstairs for a different pair. He sat Rosie down on the couch, propping her up against the back cushions, and her eyes stayed on him as he stepped back.

“You’re gonna look that way, sweetheart,” he told her, pointing across the room, but Rosie didn’t follow his arm. She just kept staring at him, eyes wide, since she had missed having him around to play with, too.

“C’mon. That way. I can’t leave you on your own, and mummy’s busy.”

She wasn’t _that_ busy, just dishing up some salad to go with his lunch like she had done for herself, but he didn’t especially want to ask her to do anything else for him.

Rather than stepping out into another room, in case in that short time Rosie managed to tip over and roll off the couch and hurt herself when he was supposed to be watching her, his solution was to responsibly stay put, sitting down on the other side of the coffee table for moderate privacy while he changed his pants. He didn’t think it really _mattered_ if Rosie saw – he did have underpants on, after all – but he respected Taylor’s more private nature (little did he know that _she_ had dressed in front of Rosie earlier, albeit not facing her directly).

He was in the midst of wriggling into his sweatpants when Taylor walked back in with a plate in hand, and she eyed him strangely, reminded of the unexpected things she saw when she wasn’t living alone.

“Very creative,” she said dryly, shaking her head – though she was smiling, Harry was too happy to acknowledge.

Setting his plate on the table for him, Taylor settled on the sofa, picking up Rosie again. She didn’t seem too bothered about being passed around, though she didn’t seem ecstatic to be back with her mom, either.

“I’ve got something for you, Rosie,” Harry announced, when he popped back up from the other side of the table, dressed more comfortably. Crawling back to his suitcases, he pulled out the small toy he had packed in the corner, hoping it wouldn’t get too squished on the journey.

Fluffing the fur, it was perfectly fine, and as soon as Harry sat back down on the couch, Rosie already began to reach for it.

“Aww, you got her a koala,” Taylor beamed, as Harry handed the small stuffed toy over to eager hands. His last stop on tour had been in Australia, and a native animal toy seemed very appropriate to bring back. One that resembled a bear made it all the better to hug, too.

“You gonna say thank you to daddy?” Taylor prompted, as Rosie checked out her new toy, grabbing at one fluffy ear. Her thank you came in the adorable hug she gave the little koala, her cheek resting against the grey fur.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Harry smiled, kissing her on the top of her head. He could’ve waited to give it to her for Christmas, but both he and Taylor followed the principle that there was no such thing as spoiling a baby.

Rosie stayed contented with her new koala friend and watching Harry, while he ate his lunch and started chatting about his last trip. Again, she was eyeing the nuggets, even though she wasn’t old enough to be able to chew them. She couldn’t even sit up for more than a couple minutes on her own, let alone crawl, and yet she still lurched forward, trying to squirm out of Taylor’s hold and grab at the dinosaur chicken nuggets.

“You won’t like these, miss,” Harry told her, waving a nugget teasingly in front of her. Expectedly, Rosie whined and tried to grab, and perhaps had second thoughts about missing her playfully teasing father.

Really, though, Rosie adored him. Her frustrating whining had vanished since Harry arrived (and the nuggets were gone) and she settled on his lap, hanging onto her koala toy while her parents conversed. She was happy to have them together again, even if she had no clue what they were talking about.

“She’s been fussing all morning, y’know?” Taylor exposed, giving their daughter a fond smile as Harry gently guided the koala’s ear out of Rosie’s mouth. “Now you’re here, she’s being a little angel again. I gotta say, I’m personally offended.”

“Maybe she thought you were being mean to her,” Harry suggested, grinning at her immediate scoff.

“ _Mean_ to her? I’m _never_ mean to her!”

“She might have a different definition of mean.”

“She’s a _baby_.”

“Babies still have opinions,” Harry stated assuredly. He got Rosie to smile for him by rubbing his finger kindly under her chin. “I’m your favourite, aren’t I, sweetheart?”

“I _will_ take your sign down,” Taylor declared dryly, which made him chuckle, guiding Rosie down to lie against his chest. His hand rubbed gently at her back, while his other moved to rest on Taylor’s thigh.

“I’ve really missed this,” he said, his voice softer. “The hardest part was being away from you two.”

“We’re coming with you next time.”

“It’s your turn next.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna be my turn for a while.”

Not when she was so happy with devoting her time and energy into taking care of her daughter. Not when there was so much she could do with Harry out of the spotlight.

“Though I do have some ideas I wouldn’t mind working on with you,” she had to add, and he grinned at her. Of course she did.

“Lullabies?” he joked, patting Rosie over her squishy nappy. It made her giggle a little, her thumb then wedging in her little mouth as her cheek rested against his chest, facing Taylor. “I love the bee dress, by the way.”

Taylor smiled, glad she had picked a winner. Though, realistically, Rosie made anything look adorable. “I couldn’t decide between that and the ladybird one.”

“You’re just gonna get it another time.”

“You know me too well.”

With the warmth of her father’s body enveloping her, Rosie ended up falling asleep for her afternoon nap on top of Harry. She dropped her koala and her thumb fell from her relaxed mouth, and Harry’s chest swelled with love for the baby who put her trust in him. That’s what he had missed most: seeing her daily through FaceTime had been great, but it could never compare to actually being with her in person, making her smile and laugh and holding her warm little body until she fell asleep. It was one of the most precious moments.

So Harry kept her there for a while, as they lowered their voices as they kept talking. He reached the point of needing the bathroom, though – the curse of cuddling. Reluctantly, he caved to carefully lying her down in her bassinet (gosh, she was so much bigger than when he’d first done that!), and when he returned, well, he got to cuddle his other girl.

There was less talking then. Taylor lay down on her back, while Harry squeezed in on his side with his back against the back cushions of the couch. His hand rubbed over the smooth fabric of her leggings covering her thigh (just like she had predicted he wouldn’t be able to resist), and with her lips on his, he felt _very_ welcomed home.

At the back of her mind, Taylor knew not to take it too far, not with Rosie asleep on the floor only a few feet away from them, but she could hardly stop herself from kissing him eagerly. With her lips slightly parted and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him where she wanted him, she wanted to tell him that she had missed this part too – not that it had even crossed his mind that she hadn’t. Harry had a very vivid image stored in his mind of watching her reactions to her own hand between her thighs, out of frame as they played around via video chat; the thought of it stirred his lower regions every damn time.

He managed to pull away, only to kiss her neck instead, which made her back arch up in invitation. Breathing deeply, he released a wonderful sigh, murmuring, “Fuck, you smell amazing.” She had put on his favourite vanilla perfume.

Taylor was smiling as his hand slipped up under her sweater (the incredibly soft cashmere made Harry want to rub his face against it like one of the cats, but he had more prevalent desires for the moment), gasping airily when he squeezed one of her breasts.

Lace. That was definitely lace he was feeling under his fingertips; he traced it for a moment, let his fingers spread up onto the swell of her breast. On impulse, he pulled up her sweater to see just what she was wearing, taking both of them by surprise.

She could already feel his arousal pressing up against her thigh, and she smirked when he shifted against her, giving himself a tiny amount of friction.

Harry swallowed noticeably. She was really wearing _that_. He didn’t know what to say.

“You still like it?”

Before he could manage to untie his tongue, they heard a small murmur from the nearby bassinet. Both of them snapped their heads towards it, waiting for another sound…

But Rosie must’ve just been dreaming; she made no more sound.

“Upstairs?” Taylor suggested in a whisper, and he nodded, damn glad that she was offering a relocation and not a raincheck. Taking her clothes off was one of the other things he had been thinking about on the plane.

Harry followed behind as Taylor picked Rosie up to bring her up to her nursery, unashamedly checking out her ass when she bent over in those tight leggings. And her legs, fuck they always looked so good, he couldn’t wait to spread them out, get between them–

It was so fucking good to be home.

 

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Freshly turned twenty-eight, and Taylor was getting a photo with Santa Claus.

Her birthday had been just how she had hoped it would be. While she was offered kind wishes from family, friends, and fans, Taylor had a quiet day with Harry and Rosie. He had made her breakfast, Rosie had given her a heap of cuddles, and all three of them spent the afternoon making a mess painting.

Lots of newspaper spread out on the tiled floor, they had painted on many pieces of plain white paper, mostly finding entertainment in watching Rosie rub her paint-coated hands all over the place. A tiny handprint ended up on Harry’s face, and he had deliberately swiped a brush down Taylor’s cheek when she laughed at him. A minor paint fight had ensued, but nothing was quite as hilarious as when Rosie got itchy and she rubbed it away with both of her little fists, covering her face in bright red paint. She looked like a demented clown, and one day, she was going to cringe over the photos they had naturally had to take.

They had gone out for dinner with her parents later, once they had cleaned themselves up. Taylor had worn an understated dress, while Harry’s floral trousers hadn’t been subtle at all, and she had absolutely loved it.

“If I can’t dress up for my girlfriend’s birthday, when can I?” he had grinned, when she raised an impressed brow at his daring pants paired with a black silk shirt.

He had shown perfect manners all through dinner (unlike Rosie, who drooled on and fell asleep in the high chair she had been provided), as had everyone else in the restaurant, who didn’t bother the high profile diners. Their waitress had actually said happy birthday to her, without any of them mentioning it, and another had later tweeted about it, though thoughtfully without naming the venue or adding any pictures.

Harry’s arm had rested along the back of her chair while they waited for their meals, thumb idly stroking her arm. He hadn’t been too affectionate with her since they were in public – and in front of her parents, for that matter – but when they got home, it was a _very_ different story.

It was hard to believe that the same man who had left bite marks on her thighs was the one currently wearing a snowflake sweater five days later. He looked so… _wholesome_. Not like he would pin your hands above your head and dare you not to make a sound.

In all fairness, Taylor was standing beside him wearing a sweater with a cat wearing a Christmas hat printed on the front, and she seriously doubted anyone looked at her and expected she left harsh scratches down backs and bit hard enough on bottom lips to draw blood.

“ _Fucking hell, you did it again_.”

“ _So punish me_.”

The thought made her knees turn to jelly all over again.

They looked a vision of innocence as they waited in line together, Taylor rocking the pram to keep Rosie happy, to get a photo with a shopping mall Santa. It was maybe a little ridiculous, but they had joked about it, realised they actually wanted to do it, and decided to go during an afternoon: after the lunch rush and before schools got out. Then, hopefully, they wouldn’t get too widely noticed.

It was hard to miss Taylor’s outrageous Christmas cat sweater, though. It attracted weird looks, then googly eyes when they realised she was Taylor Swift, accompanied by Harry Styles, sporting a more normal Christmas sweater, and a pram that obviously held their largely unseen baby. A rare sight in any shopping mall.

When it got to their turn, they politely asked Santa’s elves if, where possible, they could stop anyone else from taking photos of them. Santa’s big red chair always encouraged strangers to stare, to see whether the current child meeting him would be one that had a meltdown and burst into tears. Pop superstars would only bring on more attention.

There was also the minor issue of they didn’t really know how Rosie was going to react. It was her first Christmas, and while Taylor had started reading her Christmas books since the beginning of December, it wasn’t the same as meeting the big man in real life.

Rosie tended to be shy around strangers. She wasn’t really used to them; she didn’t interact with people who weren’t connected to her parents. When they took her out, she would stare, but she would often end up looking to hide in one of her parents’ shoulders, too.

Which was just what she did now. Dressed in an adorable sparkly red dress, complete with a bow around the middle, Rosie was so ready for her very first Santa photo, except she wasn’t really.

The man dressed as Santa had a kind smile, and he greeted Rosie with as much warmth as any of the older kids when Taylor carried her over, Harry at her side.

“Hi!” Taylor beamed a red lipstick smile at him. Gosh, when had she last done this? Not for over twenty years, surely; that just made her feel old. “This is Rosie, it’s her first Christmas.”

“Your _first_ Christmas? Well, merry Christmas to you, Rosie,” Santa said to her, with a jolly smile. “How old are you?”

Harry gently took her wrist and held up her hand, peeling her fingers out of a fist. “Five months. Nearly six.”

“And have you been good?”

Rosie radiated innocence as she stuck her thumb in her mouth, wide blue eyes watching him intently.

“She’s an angel,” Taylor replied without a doubt, bouncing her a little in her arm proudly. “You wanna give Santa a hug, baby?”

With trust, Taylor passed her over, both she and Harry keeping a careful eye on her as Santa held her up on his lap. Rosie tilted her head up at him, hand falling out her mouth, wet with drool and reaching for Santa’s big white beard. She wiped her hand down it – god, she was _stroking_ it as if it were Olivia’s fur – before grabbing a fistful of the faux hair. And it really looked like they were going to be perfectly able to get a photo with her and Santa sitting together, until suddenly her head turned back towards Taylor and her bottom lip starting quivering.

“Honey, it’s–”

“AHHHHH!” Rosie whined, threatening to properly start wailing, and Taylor quickly stepped in to scoop her back up before her daughter was That Child who caused a scene with Santa Claus.

“Sorry, she’s kind of shy,” Taylor apologised, bouncing Rosie again to calm her down again.

After many years of being a shopping mall Santa, it was something he was accustomed to and didn’t take personally. What _was_ new, though, was, in their deliberation of how best to position themselves for a photo now, Santa had a twenty-three-year-old boy band heartthrob sit on his lap.

“Can I make a Christmas wish, please, Santa?” Harry asked politely, as he balanced himself on Santa’s lap, trying not to put too much weight on him. He was a lot bigger than his usual guests.

“Why, of course you can…”

“Harry,” he supplied with a smile. Santa had already known that, had only left it open out of friendliness; he had a teenage daughter who was never going to believe this.

“What would you like for Christmas, Harry?”

Leaning in, Harry whispered his wish, his eyes lingering on Taylor, who was thankfully distracted with trying to remove the little frown on Rosie’s face, with a wonderful smile. “I wish one day she’ll say yes.”

Santa couldn’t help but smile, too. It sure beat all the kids asking for iPads. “Well, Harry, if you’ve been good, I’m sure I can make that happen.”

While Rosie ended up being the only one not smiling in their photo, her innocent pink pout made her look adorable regardless. Harry remained the lucky one in Santa’s lap, grinning ridiculously, while Taylor perched on the arm of Santa’s chair, beaming as she held Rosie on her knee. For their first ever family Christmas photo, it was pretty darn perfect.

“Thank you _so_ much,” Taylor naturally turned to Santa afterward, giving him a genuine smile. “We hope you have a great Christmas.”

“And same to you,” he smiled back. “Especially you, young Rosie. Merry Christmas.”

“Say bye to Santa, sweetie,” Taylor cooed, making Rosie wave her little hand at him. Rosie rested her cheek against Taylor’s shoulder, but at least she still looked Santa’s way as they said goodbye.

She was set back in the security of her pram while they sorted out getting their prints paid for and sent to them. They both thanked the photographer elf, and the two assistants who had looked out for them. It was really refreshing to actually be able to do something so normal without it being a major deal.

They didn’t manage to get away without being photographed by total strangers at all today, though. There were a few random low quality snaps of them wandering around together, as they stopped to pick up some extra Christmas presents they had been yet to buy. Both were pretty organised gift wise, but there was always a couple more things left on their lists.

The clearest pictures that ended up online were the ones of them sitting down in a café for afternoon tea. Their impression that they had been followed for the last twenty minutes wasn’t wrong, but there wasn’t a whole lot they could do about it, when they weren’t really being bothered. At least no one had shared their Christmas photo; that would stay theirs.

At a table near the back of the café, they got themselves settled, glancing over menus.

“You wanna split a slice of cake?” Taylor asked, which got Harry to arch a brow at her.

“When have we ever split a slice of cake?”

Shrugging a shoulder, Taylor broke into another smile, laughing. That was a good point.

Harry offered to place their order, once they decided on their coffees and what sort of dessert they wanted with it. He returned a few minutes with a table number – 23, coincidentally – stroking a hand fondly over her hair as he skirted his way to his seat. Only a small, casual touch, but it made her feel special regardless.

“You wanna give her a bottle, babe?” Taylor suggested, when he lifted Rosie out of the pram and sat her on his lap, letting her in on their low-key afternoon tea date. He jiggled her on his knee, smiling.

“Sure.”

Pre-packed in the baby bag, Taylor sorted it out for him, propping her chin up on her hand with her elbow leaning on the table as she watched Harry readjust Rosie in his hold, better to feed her with. She was happy for it, her eyes closing as she began sucking on her bottle, held carefully by Harry’s steady hand.

“Did you ask me to do it just to stare at me?” Harry teased without looking up from Rosie, a smile tugging at his lips at the warmth of Taylor’s gaze.

“Yes. Definitely,” she deadpanned, nudging her foot against his under the table. “You make a cute dad.”

“Just wait ‘til she’s sick down my jumper,” he said, which made her crinkle her nose so sweetly, he was glad he glanced up then.

“I was trying to have a moment, and you say _that_.” Taylor was smiling at him, though; she could hardly help it. “Have I told you how romantic you are?”

“Not sarcastically.”

“First time for everything.”

They were smiling at each other when a waitress arrived at their table, setting down two plates, one with a slice of chocolate cake, the other with vanilla and honey cake. While they weren’t in favour of splitting a slice, they were guaranteed to steal bites of each other’s choices.

Their drinks arrived a minute later, and their waitress wished them both to enjoy their treat and to have a merry Christmas. That was one thing Taylor loved about this time of year: there was so much more joy in the air. There was stress, sure, but there tended to be more kindness between strangers, too.

“I don’t know what to get for your parents,” Harry said, licking cappuccino foam off his top lip. He had had to wait until Rosie was finished with her drink first; he kept her contentedly sitting on his lap after, holding onto her carefully.

“You don’t have to get them anything.”

“You do know I want your parents to like me, right?”

When she glanced up from spooning some decadent chocolate cake to see his quirked brow, Taylor smiled at him, tilting her head. “My parents love you. They’re flattered you’re going to be here this year.”

“I think they’d be more flattered if I brought…?”

Swallowing her bite, she swayed her spoon absently. “I don’t know, some wine? A cheese platter? Seriously, just some chocolate would make them happy. You can’t go wrong with that.”

“There a good chocolate shop here?”

“Mhmm. And, y’know, if you’re thinking about getting something for _me_ …” Taylor added, grinning as she made him laugh. They had already been over how they didn’t really _need_ to gift each other much – particularly it having just been Taylor’s birthday recently – but they knew each other well: they just couldn’t help themselves.

“Maybe. Haven’t decided if you’ve been a good girl,” Harry replied unashamedly, which had Taylor nearly choking on her poorly timed sip of coffee. The casualness in which he said these sorts of things always surprised her, even after all this time.

She kicked him under the table, though she mistakenly picked the leg Rosie was propped up on, and the subsequent jiggling made her whine. It didn’t bother Harry; he just started bouncing his leg again to distract her.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he said pleasantly, stabbing his spoon into his own cake. His eyes fixed on hers as he brought it up to his mouth, and she was tempted to kick his other shin. “We’ll stop for wine on the way home? The place I got the bottle for your birthday? I don’t want to get your parents shitty stuff.”

“You really don’t have to do much, okay? It’s not a big deal,” Taylor still tried to assure him, choosing this time to ignore his cuss in front of Rosie. Rosie didn’t ignore it: she randomly started whining again, shaking her fist.

Throughout the rest of their afternoon tea, Rosie kept fussing on and off, making noises they would rather she didn’t in public; it brought on side eyed glances they didn’t want. Harry tried picking her up so she was standing, his arm wrapped around her as he held her against him, her head resting on his shoulder. It sort of helped, for a little while, but when she got like this, there wasn’t a huge amount they could do.

“She’s tired, babe,” Taylor noted with a sigh, when Rosie wriggled and gave a high-pitched whine. “We should probably get her home soon.”

The last observation anyone tweeted about them was when they were wrapping up to get going for their last few shopping stops. Harry kissed Rosie on the cheek a couple times before settling her down in her pram, tucking her up under her blanket to keep her warm and hopefully encourage sleep. Taylor swiped on some fresh lipstick, making up for the red stain she had left on her coffee cup, before standing up and pushing her chair in. Beside him, she rested her hand on his shoulder, and when he kissed her lips, she didn’t feel self-conscious at all. All this – all this felt good and normal and safe.

 

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In amongst a houseful of Swift’s on Christmas Eve, Harry felt a little overwhelmed. On the other hand, though, Rosie was a Styles, and he had a possibly-maybe-if-things-turned-out-right future Styles sitting at his side. It was actually pretty amazing.

It had been a tough decision, but in a way, it had already been made for him: he couldn’t imagine being apart from Rosie for Christmas. Even if it meant missing out on spending the day with his mum and sister like normal, he wanted to be where Rosie was. Being with Taylor was just… wow. The fact that this was where they were at, they were happy and secure and devoted enough to know they were going to spend the holiday together – it meant so much to them. _They_ meant so much to each other.

Harry had been welcomed as one of their own as soon as they had arrived at Taylor’s parents’ place. Considering this time last year he was pretty sure her parents despised him for turning their daughter’s life upside down, he couldn’t quite believe it.

He could see where Taylor got her Christmas enthusiasm from. Much like their own place, her parents’ was fully decorated, with sparkly tinsel and intricate ornaments. In the living room stood an impressive real tree – unsurprising, considering the farm they had raised Taylor and Austin on. It felt warm and homey and while he really did miss his mum, Harry was thankful to be part of their celebrations.

It was nice to catch up with Austin, too; he jested with Harry, making him feel comfortable in a different way to how Taylor did.

Taylor… Gosh, Taylor looked so _at home_. She had dressed up, with red lipstick and winged eyeliner, another Christmas sweater and stripy leggings. She joked around, free to be herself – that was really what made the difference. She looked the most beautiful when she wasn’t hiding behind walls she had put up to protect herself.

Maybe the holiday spirit had gotten to her, since she was openly affectionate with him, too. Taylor kept touching him, sometimes kissing him, and he really, really wanted to spend every Christmas ever with her.

“Are you really gonna pull that face every time we kiss?” Taylor teased her brother, when she rested her head on Harry’s shoulder as the four of them sat together.

“You look like you fell out of a cheesy Christmas movie,” Austin accused. Truly, though, he was happy for them. His sister deserved someone who was going to take care of her; Harry wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that,” Taylor smiled, lifting her head to give Harry another soft kiss. Austin gagged teasingly, and she giggled as she pulled away. “Y’know, you wouldn’t have a niece to cuddle without all this.”

“There’s a mental image I didn’t need.” He looked down at Rosie – decked out in reindeer coveralls, complete with hood that had soft little antlers – who was happily propped up in his lap, playing with her rattle. The mistake was glancing up again too soon to see the smirk on Harry’s face; he dreaded to think what the hell he was thinking. “The look on your face has scarred me for life,” he stated dryly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry replied as innocently as he could muster, considering he was reminded of that fortuitous night he had reunited with Taylor. Austin _really_ did not need to hear what they had done that night, and her parents _really_ did not need to overhear any details either. It wasn’t a conversation for any time, let alone Christmas Eve.

Aside from the overenthusiastic greeting she had received from the dogs that had left her wailing, Rosie seemed to be enjoying her first Christmas. She was beyond adorable in her reindeer outfit, and she was fawned over as the new baby in the family; cuddles always went down well with her.

She let everyone else in on what a normal day with her was like, including when she was sitting with Austin and she delightfully filled her nappy up right on top of him, and when she fell asleep resting on her grandad’s chest. It was good for her, to interact with people other than her parents, and they all loved having her around to share her first Christmas.

“She looks more like you every day,” Andrea commented to Taylor, while they cooed over Rosie – who smiled and reminded them all who her father was, with the sweet little dimple in her left cheek.

Later in the day, the boys were left to play Scrabble together, watching over Rosie while the women worked on their Christmas dinner feast. Harry had Rosie sitting with him, as his unhelpful teammate who couldn’t read; moral support was more her thing.

Playing Scrabble with a Swift was always a tough game: Taylor was deadly serious, and while Austin wasn’t quite so competitive, he was practiced from having played so many games with his sister. Harry was actually pretty good at Scrabble, but he was used to losing against Smarty Pants Wordsmith Taylor; the last time he had won, she had actually pouted, and when he had kissed it away, well, let’s just say the tiles were forgotten after that.

They didn’t end up finding out who was the winner, all thanks to Rosie. Perhaps she had wanted to make up a game of her own, since she wasn’t allowed to eat any tiles like she tried multiple times to. Whatever the case, Rosie decided to throw her rattle on the board, sending the tiles flying into a jumbled mess of letters. She actually giggled at that. She _giggled_.

“ _Rosalie_ ,” Harry laughed, rubbing his hand over her tummy where he was helping hold her upright. “What was _that?_ ”

“She knew you were gonna lose: she was doing you a favour,” Austin quipped, picking up the fuzzy rattle and shaking it in front of Rosie, making her reach out again for it, smiling.

“Bold words from someone whose last word was ‘dart’.”

“On a triple point score square.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

After resetting the board, and laying Rosie down on her blanket beside them, frustrating her by keeping her just out of reach of the tiles, they had another go, this time with Taylor as well, who had returned from helping out in the kitchen. For a little while there, they thought Rosie was actually going to start crawling right then and there, with her desire to put a tile in her mouth as if it were made of candy. On her stomach, she pushed herself up on her hands, and rocked a little as if she were about to suddenly spring into action and surprise them all. She wasn’t quite there yet, though; much as she wanted to, she couldn’t figure out how to move herself forward to destroy any more words. All for the best, really: they didn’t need to have a baby choking on Scrabble tiles, especially at Christmas time.

Taylor wasn’t quite on top of her game, in a bit of a joyous daze. This was the sort of Christmas she had never thought she would have, not with Harry – she couldn’t even begin to express how much it meant to her that he was here. That every day, he continued to choose her.

There was an interview he had done, on the last leg of his tour. Invasive questions about Taylor and Rosie were on the No Go list for every interview he had sat for, though of course, he had been congratulated and asked a few brief questions here and there about how things were going. Taylor had listened to every one, curious to see how they went, what he had to say.

“We FaceTime every day, so it’s not so bad,” he had let slip, when the last interviewer had commented that it must be difficult being away from his child. It was only a small thing; Taylor didn’t really mind people knowing that. His diplomatic answer to the next question was what had made her smile.

“Can we expect an album from you and Taylor anytime soon?”

In the video, Harry had smirked a little, shrugging and leaning back in his chair. His body language screamed yes, yet he had carefully said, “I mean… I don’t think I’m allowed to say.”

Which, naturally, sent people into a frenzy. Was that a yes? It was totally a yes. She read so many posts about it, even Taylor began to believe that it was something that could really be happening.

Her favourite had been a radio one he’d done in London, with his friend Nick. There was a difference between how he interacted with those he was well acquainted with; Harry was friendly with everyone, but his mates were the ones who brought something different out of him. He was more relaxed, she thought. It made him more honest.

Nick had paid him congratulations on air, going on to mention that he had shown him a picture of Rosie earlier (he had shown him plenty, actually, since she was born), when Harry had cheekily interrupted, “That’s Rosalie to you.” His dimpled grin in the video had warmed Taylor’s insides, as had when he’d said, “She’s wonderful,” about her with that smile he could never seem to fight whenever her name was mentioned. “We’re very happy.”

He had said a lot more in the lengthy cover interview he had done for Rolling Stone, though they had respectfully held back from revealing every little thing he had spoken about. Honestly, Harry could’ve filled the entire magazine with an endless stream of thoughts about Taylor and Rosie. But Harry was a private person, something Taylor really appreciated. After all the shit she had received over the years for the insights she had given into her life, Taylor felt relief in closing that door, and being with someone who saw things the same. It made the little things they did share more meaningful.

Taylor didn’t know how she could possibly tell him just how much he meant to her. All the time in the world didn’t seem enough.

Touching the locket round her neck, the ‘H’ she wore with love, Taylor smiled as she caught Harry’s eye. She thought maybe he already knew.

They were sat next to each other at the dining table when dinner was ready, across from her parents, Austin on the end between them. Rosie was sat up in a high chair by the corner between the siblings, where Taylor could easily tend to her if necessary.

The differing traditions were what was throwing Harry off the most. Taylor had given him the rundown of a proper Christmas at the Swift’s, and it still felt strange sitting in their dining room eating turkey carved by her father and knowing they did presents after.

“But if Santa delivers the presents on Christmas Eve, how does it make sense to open them before Christmas morning?” Harry had rightfully pointed out, when she had excitedly told him all about what it was going to be like once he had agreed to stay.

With a painfully sincere expression, Taylor had rested her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know how to tell you this… but Santa isn’t real.”

The sound of a big Christmas lunch of leftovers was definitely appealing, though – and judging by the huge amount of food for the five of them laid out on the white tablecloths, bowls resting on the special red doilies brought out for the occasion, they weren’t going to be short on leftovers.

After the collective clink of wine glasses, dinner was eaten over plenty of story sharing, reminiscing over Christmases past. That was probably the most entertaining for Harry: listening to tales of young Taylor and Austin, laughing over them along with the rest of them. He was included as well, asked about what his family was like, and he really felt like he was a proper part of things.

“I was the worst at keeping secrets,” Harry admitted, smiling as he scooped some potato salad onto his fork. (Fact: Taylor always made the best potato salad) “Gemma never wanted to tell me anything, ‘cause she _knew_ I would tell. I couldn’t help it.”

“Aww, you were so excited,” Taylor smiled at him warmly. “At least you’ve improved on your secret keeping capabilities.”

“Well, I _did_ nearly give you that phone case when I got back instead of waiting for your birthday.”

“No way! I’m glad you waited.”

The phone case he had picked up on his travels had been a small and practical gift that had gone down really well with Taylor. Granted, it was the choice of case that made it a winner: it was clear, with little caticorn heads patterned all over it.

“This is the best phone case in existence,” Taylor had declared, having immediately switched out her old one, admiring the cute cartoon cats with rainbow unicorn horns. “You know me so well.”

He was really counting on that being true.

Partway through, Rosie got bored with being the only one not participating in all the action and she started fussing for attention. Taylor reached to stroke her cheek, resisting the urge to pick her up and set her on her lap instead; if she did, she wouldn’t want to put her back, and cutting up her food would prove hard without two hands.

“You wanna try something, baby?” she offered, glancing across at her mom for confirmation. “Is that okay for her? If it’s only something small?”

“As long as it’s something she won’t choke on.”

Ignoring the age old rule of not playing with your food, Taylor cut a small piece of a roast potato, pushing away the crispy exterior in favour of mashing up the inside with a spoon. Not the most pleasant of sights to watch while eating; Austin bit back a smile at a sudden thought.

“You’re like a bird chewing its food up for it’s chicks,” he commented, pleased when he noticed Harry trying to suppress a smile too.

“Eww! I’m not _chewing_ and _spitting_ this out for her, that’s disgusting,” Taylor protested, as she made sure the potato was well mashed without any lumps. Satisfied, she scooped up a small amount, twisting to hold the spoon up toward Rosie. “Don’t listen to him. Open wide, sweetie.”

Rosie watched the approaching spoon with suspicion, keeping her mouth closed.

“It’s _yummy_ ,” Taylor coaxed convincingly. “Yummy tater.”

“You’ve gotta do the airplane thing,” Harry put in, after swallowing a bite of turkey.

“ _Here comes the airplane_ ,” she said cheerfully, waving the spoon around playfully before reaching Rosie’s lips. She looked like she was about to resist, but as a curious six-month-old who liked to put all sorts in her mouth, Rosie opened up and accepted the mashed potato. They all watched on as she tasted it for the first time (it was hard to take her seriously, when she currently had antlers), and laughed when she reached forward for more.

It went well, with Taylor offering her a little bit at a time, until some salivary mess dribbled down her chin. Taylor wiped her clean with a napkin, getting back to her own meal before Rosie’s little tummy disagreed with having any more.

They were all left full to bursting after their festive dinner – though there would always be room for dessert later on. The siblings cleared up the table, helping to put away leftovers. Harry occupied himself with scooping up Rosie and getting her to smile by pulling a silly face at her and jiggling her in his arm.

“You’re by far the cutest reindeer I’ve ever seen, y’know?” he told her gently, as she looked up at him with bright blue eyes. He kissed her on the forehead, her cheek, and the tip of her nose, and didn’t notice the kind looks Taylor’s parents were giving him. Harry really was soft with Rosie; it was obvious, just by looking at them, that she was everything to him.

As they got themselves comfortable in the living room, he kept her in his arms, cuddling her up against him, keeping them both warm and content. He held her hand, so small compared to his own, rubbing his thumb fondly over the back.

There was a very good chance that Rosie would fall asleep if he kept up his gentleness, and they didn’t want her to miss out on opening her first ever Christmas presents with everyone else.

The tree at home had an excessive amounts of gifts underneath, the majority for Rosie; they had only brought a few along with them, saving the rest for when it was just the three of them when they went back tomorrow night for a quiet celebration between their small family unit. Under this one was more of a mix for each of them, with varying degrees of wrapping ability.

“What is this? Rosie could do a better job of wrapping, and she can’t even sit up by herself,” Taylor mocked her brother, who had never gotten the hang of wrapping presents neatly. Every year, she made fun of him for it, and every year, he never really seemed to improve.

“Can she even open one on her own?” Austin challenged, which naturally made Taylor want to prove that her daughter could do anything.

“Sure she can. She loves playing games.” Spotting one of the gifts she had brought along herself for Rosie, she gladly set it down in front of her, where Harry had sat her up as they sat on the floor around the tree. “Here, baby. You can have the first one.”

They all watched on with interest as Rosie reached for the present that was about the same size as her, pulling it closer to her. Taylor had specifically chosen one that she had wrapped: smartly, she had used as little sticky tape on it as she could get away with, so it would be easier for Rosie to tear open – but nobody had to know that.

Understandably, Rosie didn’t know what she was supposed to do with it, and when Harry tried to prompt her, Austin quickly halted him.

“If you help, it doesn’t count.”

“She’s six months old,” Harry reminded him.

“And she’s super smart. C’mon, baby, rip it open. You can do it,” Taylor encouraged regardless, demonstrating a ripping motion for reference. She knew Rosie had seen it done before on her birthday; she just had to figure it out for herself now.

After some more confused staring, Rosie started shaking the present, wrapped in candy cane-patterned paper. She hummed, and surprised none of them when she put the corner in her mouth, her most effective way of exploring with new things.

“We don’t eat the paper, sweetheart,” Harry explained to her, deftly removing it from her mouth before she got it wet enough for it to begin to break down. It made her whine in protest, and, coincidentally, she grabbed a fistful of one edge of the paper and pulled. The thin wrapping tore (yes, Taylor had used thin paper on purpose, too), and no one was more surprised than Rosie, who stared at it in shock over the unexpected sound it made.

“You did it!” Taylor beamed. “Good girl, Rosie. You’re so smart.”

The hole she had made was only small, revealing only a glimpse of fuzzy brown fur. Harry pointed at it, encouraging her to keep exploring, and Rosie ended up giggling to herself adorably as she figured out how to rip the paper, tearing with reckless abandon to keep making that sound again.

“ _Hehehe!_ ” Rosie smiled as she waved a bit of paper she had fully ripped away. She ended up trying to eat it, but Harry quickly intervened.

Her attention ended up on her new toy, anyway. With the wrapping paper mostly pulled away, a fluffy new teddy bear had been unveiled. It sat about the same height as her, a bit chubbier and perfect for cuddling. Rosie had all their hearts melting when she wrapped her arms around it and gave it a big hug.

“You’re very welcome, baby,” Taylor said delightedly, shuffling closer to rub her back, above where Harry’s hand rested to keep her upright.

Rosie was happy to hug her bear while the rest of them began swapping gifts, taking their time. It was only when any came near her that she was greatly interested, wanting to open some more herself.

When Taylor handed over one she had brought for Harry, immediately Rosie tilted her head back to see, reaching a small hand upwards.

“D’you want to help me?” Harry smiled down at her, letting her grab onto one end of the present. It felt squishy, wasn’t all that big – clothes maybe?

The thicker paper made it hard for Rosie to tear; she didn’t know how to follow the trick of peeling up the sticky taped end like Harry did. He ripped some of the paper on purpose, though, just to make Rosie smile again.

Harry was left smiling himself as a beanie slipped free, one of a soft pastel pink wool, with a small pom pom on top. Glancing up at Taylor’s hopeful expression, he was sure he already knew the answer when he asked, “You made this?”

She nodded, a little shyly. Looking up templates online, Taylor had been able to knit an adult sized beanie for him before he had returned home; if she was honest, she was pretty proud of how neatly it had turned out. “You like it?”

“I love it.” He was about to put it on to see how it fit when he realised Rosie had managed to grab hold of the pom pom, as if it was hers. “You’ve already got a hood, miss,” he reminded her, smiling as he pulled it back up onto her head from where it had fallen when she looked up at him. Still, she wanted to keep the fluffy pom pom, and grumbled when he extracted it from her grasp.

“It fits perfectly,” Harry complimented, once he slipped the beanie onto his head. It flattened his hair underneath, a stray lock curling by his ear – as if he needed anything else to make him look cuter. “’S warm, too. Thanks, Tay.”

“You’re welcome,” Taylor said softly, her cheeks turning pink as he charmingly kissed her on the cheek. Even if it would’ve been okay, he was apprehensive about giving her a proper kiss with her family watching.

Taylor didn’t feel quite the same when he went on to give her the gift he had brought along for her to open tonight. Small and flat, the snowman wrapping paper looked like it was covering simply a card. She opened it with intrigue, sliding out something she was _very_ pleased with.

She could’ve done with it months ago, but the weekend spa retreat in California he had booked for her was _exactly_ what she needed. The voucher was for four, so she could relax with a few of her friends while he took care of Rosie. Deciding on only three who actually had a couple days free was going to be difficult, but who cared? They were gonna have a girls’ weekend!

Holding the card (even _that_ looked luxurious, on black matte card with gold lettering) against her chest, Taylor closed her eyes, relishing the thought of impending pampering. God, Harry was a good man. A kind, thoughtful young man.

“I love you,” Taylor told him, when she met his gaze again. Smiles broke out on both of their faces. “How did you know I wanted this? _I_ didn’t even know I wanted this.”

Harry chuckled, shrugging modestly. “I just thought it might be nice.”

“It’s _perfect_ ,” she assured him, leaning in to kiss his lips lovingly, regardless of who was watching. She didn’t care; she needed her family to know how much Harry meant to her.

It was amazing to think how much things had changed in just a year. Last Christmas, they hadn’t even really been _together_. They hadn’t known what to say to each other, how to act, where anything was going. For a time, it had seemed insurmountable, that the state of uncertainty they had always balanced on was just who they were, who they were always destined to be when together.

And now – now, god, they were living together, they had their matching rings, she had his initial on a locket and he had hers _tattooed on his body_. They took pictures together, they cooked for each other, they sang together, they made stupid jokes and laughed at each other. They had a beautiful baby girl who brightened every day by a zillion percent. And every day, they told each other they loved each other, whether outright or in the way they treated each other. Every single day.

It wasn’t a fairy-tale. It had taken time to figure out; it always would, for it to keep working. But it was a romance that was right and real. One that felt like coming home, just by looking into the other’s eyes.

It was these sorts of things – Harry going out of his way to come home for Thanksgiving, to sacrifice spending Christmas with his family to be with hers – that made Taylor believe that the flighty teenager she had dated was actually her forever person.

Maybe she was crazy, but Taylor was really, really in love. And every time Harry gave her that fond smile of his, she fell a little more.

Taylor thought Harry just very well might start crying when he opened the gift her parents had gotten him. She already knew what it was: her mom had sent her a picture when she had found it in a retro store while shopping for something for her, checking he didn’t already have it and that it was the right size. Even if he had already owned one the same, she was sure he would’ve accepted the vintage Pink Floyd t-shirt with just as much awed appreciation as he was now, because he knew he hadn’t mentioned he loved the band, so Taylor must’ve, which was heart-warming in itself, and they must care enough about him to have remembered.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Harry said so genuinely, smiling wonderfully at the two of them. “Thank you for everything. Really, I– I appreciate you letting me share your Christmas. It means a lot to me.”

Watching Harry receive hugs from both of her parents made Taylor’s eyes mist over; she felt like this was the happy ending to the sort of cheesy Christmas movies she loved.

But it wasn’t quite over yet. The chocolate and bottle of expensive wine went down well with her parents, as did the homemade chocolate and hazelnut fudge Taylor had made that would go nicely with it. She actually rather wished she had made extra for herself, but there was always opportunity for that later.

Rosie was really the one who was spoiled, naturally. Her first-time grandparents had gotten her plenty of new clothes and toys, her uncle contributing too. The new activity jungle with the starry mobile was going to be perfect for keeping her stimulated while they had other things to do.

Apparently all the unwrapping had stimulated her now, too; she didn’t look like she was about to nod off, even though it was past her usual bed time. Rosie was bright eyed and giggling over a toy that made animal noises when you pressed different buttons, delighted as her grandad taught her how to use it.

Giving her some dessert probably didn’t help, either. They had homemade chocolate puddings with a rich sauce, whipped cream to top it off. Taylor had unsurprisingly given herself a bit more than entirely necessary (well, not according to _her_ ), and having settled Rosie beside her on the couch while they ate, she couldn’t help wanting to share when her little girl tried to reach for her bowl curiously.

“Here, baby,” Taylor said gently, sneaking a swipe of whipped cream onto her finger. She offered it to Rosie before anyone could tell her it wasn’t a wise idea, and Rosie sucked it off her finger, her eyes immediately lighting up at the sweetness. Smiling, Taylor gave her some more when she smacked her lips, which she ate up greedily. “You like that, hey?”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Harry commented in amusement, startling her. He was sitting on her other side, watching them; he always loved watching his girls. “You sure you should be getting her into that so early?”

“Shut up, she’s been a good girl, she’s earned it. Haven’t you, baby?”

When Rosie looked up, as sugary sweet as the treat she was given, it was impossible to dispute.

Her high didn’t last much longer; as soon as she cuddled up in Taylor’s arms after dessert (she still wanted more whipped cream, but Taylor had restrained), wrapped up in her blanket, Rosie’s eyelids grew heavy. Head resting against her mother’s chest, she fell asleep all at once, before she got the chance to say goodnight to everyone and hear a regular bedtime story.

With her hand cradling the back of her baby’s head, stroking her silky blonde hair, Taylor smiled down at the relaxed little bundle keeping her extra warm. “We’ve got a sleepy reindeer here,” she announced quietly, rubbing Rosie’s back with her other hand.

“You should take her up to bed, honey. She’s had a long day,” Andrea told her. Six months on, and she still found herself getting emotional seeing her baby girl with one of her own. Watching her daughter navigate being a mom – such a loving one, at that – was an absolute treasure.

Though reluctant to move her comfortable bundle of warmth, Taylor excused herself to take Rosie up to her bedroom, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder to keep him put with the others; she wanted the moment alone with their daughter. Closing the door behind her, she laid her down on top of the bedspread, watching intently as Rosie stretched out but didn’t wake. It took careful hands to take her out of her coveralls and into the onesie she usually slept in, but Taylor was practiced; she managed it all without Rosie even seeming to notice at all.

“My little angel,” Taylor whispered, stroking her hand down Rosie’s soft cheek as she stayed kneeling on the floor. In the low light of the lamp she had switched on, she could see the movement of Rosie’s eyelids – what was she dreaming? “I love you more than anything in the entire world, you know that?”

Gently, she kissed her on the cheek, before picking her up and moving her to the portable cot they had brought along with them, set up on the floor near the foot of the bed. Rosie stirred a little in her sleep, but didn’t wake as Taylor tucked her blanket up, hoping she wouldn’t get cold in the night.

“You let us know if you need anything, okay?” she said to her, as she set one of the baby monitors beside the cot, ready in case she woke at any time. “Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

With another kiss on the head, Taylor grabbed the other monitor and the throw blanket from her bed before she tiptoed out, closing the door quietly behind her. She checked on the cats, who were cooped up in Austin’s room in an effort to avoid the dogs, after an earlier incident where Meredith took a swipe at Kitty, even though she was a fraction of the size. Leaving them at home by themselves for Christmas just hadn’t been an option.

Olivia mewed at her when she scratched her behind the ears, jumping down off the edge of the bed when she went to leave. Meredith remained asleep on top of Austin’s pillow, which he probably wasn’t going to be the biggest fan of when he found cat hair all over it later.

Stopping to grab extra blankets from the linen closet, Taylor draped them over her shoulder and picked up Olivia, who had followed her out into the hall. Cuddling her cat would make up for the loss of warmth from putting Rosie to bed.

“Anyone want anything?” she offered back downstairs, after handing out the blankets she had thoughtfully brought down for everyone. With the fireplace having been lit earlier, the house wasn’t chilly like the winter air outside, but extra blankets never hurt anyone.

“Can you get me a candy cane?” Austin asked while he had the chance. Taylor looked over at where the Christmas tree stood proud across the room, glittering with rainbow lights, ornaments and candy canes.

“You know they’re _right there?_ ” she said plainly, though considering he had already wrapped himself up in the blanket she had given him, she didn’t really blame him for not wanting to get up again.

Kindly tossing a candy cane her brother’s way, smirking as it bounced off his arm and onto the floor, Taylor grabbed some chocolate from her stash before getting herself settled back on the couch. Austin, at the other end, playfully nudged her with his foot for her bad throw, and she kicked back for his bad catch, and their parents, sat on the adjacent sofa, shared a marital look. It was good to have them home.

Olivia curled up on top of Harry in the process, to avoid getting caught in the middle of the mock conflict between the siblings. She purred appreciatively at his immediate offers of affection, scratching her head and down her back; she should’ve ventured out earlier.

They settled in for an evening of Christmas movies, snacking on the treats they had gotten and sipping on red wine. Taylor snuggled up under the blanket she shared with Harry, content with her head resting on his shoulder and her body leaning heavily against his, his arm around her waist. It was comfy (more so for her, but he sure wasn’t going to complain), and she felt truly at home.

Perhaps a little more so than she really should’ve. In what was intended as an innocent touch, she had Harry in a coughing fit when she slipped her hand up under his sweater, smoothing over the bare skin of his stomach. Granted, her timing was off: right after he had taken a sip of wine was never going to be a good idea when he wasn’t expecting it. He had choked on his mouthful in surprise, and played it off as it simply going down the wrong way. Olivia scampered off at the commotion, and while Taylor openly showed her concern as he coughed and spluttered, she thought Austin had his suspicions, if the side eye he gave her was anything to go by.

“You need some water, babe?” she offered, frowning a little as she rubbed his chest, resisting the urge to apologise.

He shook his head, setting his wine glass down on the coffee table and wiping under his eye with the heel of his hand. “I’m alright.”

Once he calmed down again, he got her back: under the secrecy of the blanket, he slid his hand down surreptitiously to squeeze her ass. Taylor merely sighed quietly, shifting her hips a little; he wouldn’t catch her out that easily.

With her family in the vicinity, there was no chance of Harry daring to cross the line with anything further. He wouldn’t disrespect the trust and generosity they had shown him.

After the film finished, their parents later called it a night and headed up to their room. The three remaining hung around for longer, pouring more wine and putting on another movie, in no rush to sleep.

“Rosie’s gonna love this one day,” Taylor smiled at the thought, tucking her legs up more comfortably, leaning against Harry’s.

“We’ll see how much you still love it after she makes you watch it five times a day,” Austin cut in with a point to burst her bubble, but she wasn’t going to give up her daydream so easily.

“ _Elf_ is a quintessential Christmas movie. I watched it just last Friday; it never gets old.”

“But if you had to watch it multiple times in _one day_ –”

“Then I would be full of Christmas cheer.”

“But–”

“ _‘The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear’_ ,” Taylor recited with enthusiastic emphasis, and before she had the chance to actually start singing, Harry gave her a nudge.

“ _Shh_. Can’t hear over you lot.”

“For the youngest person in the room, you sure sound like an old man,” Taylor quipped, squealing and squirming suddenly as he chastised her with a pinch on the bum. She shoved his chest, and her brother looked his way warily.

“Do I want to know what you did?”

Harry simply shook his head. “Nope.”

They settled down again, making it through the rest of the film in relative peace. Taylor didn’t cry this time, not like she had last year, where every emotional fictional scene in anything had made her tear up.

“His dad doesn’t believe in him – that’s _sad!_ ” Taylor insisted, when Austin brought it up just to tease her. “And I was in a very emotional place, okay? I was fragile and I couldn’t handle it.”

“Is that why you cried when the girl’s cake fell apart on that kids baking show?” Harry threw in for good measure, having already known the answer. Naturally, he got a rise out of her too.

“ _Yes!_ They’re _children_ , it’s so sad when things don’t go right for them. Are you telling me you would rather _laugh_ at a poor child’s cake not rising, when they’re trying to make something way harder than you could manage without a recipe?”

“Alright, Miss Baking Queen. Settle down,” Harry grinned.

“Do you remember when you told me to settle down when I was pregnant and I threw a wooden spoon at your head?”

“How could I forget? You _laughed_ at me.”

“It made the _funniest_ noise,” Taylor turned to grin at her brother. “It was like his head was hollow.”

“Are you sure it’s not?” Austin joked in good nature, which had Harry gaping as Taylor burst out laughing.

“Aww, you guys! You’re like brothers already!” Taylor exclaimed, with more joy over the prospect than either of them could know. Grabbing onto Austin’s arm, she tried to tug him closer. “C’mon – group hug!”

After trading more banter back and forth, making Austin wonder if the pair ever had a normal conversation, Taylor thought best to call it quits. She had ended up on the floor from laughing too hard over a silly joke, losing her balance after being nudged – which only made the lot of them laugh harder.

“I think I’ve had a _little_ too much to drink,” she realised, rubbing at her elbow she had banged on the table painfully. A glass with dinner, and a few more in the hours since… “Help me up, babe.”

Rather than making another teasing remark, Harry swung himself properly upright and kindly held out his hands to pull her back up. In thanks, Taylor ruffled his hair, before cleaning up their glasses and various candy wrappers, not one to leave a mess behind for someone else to clear up. She made sure to grab Olivia, too, before she got any funny ideas about playing with the low hanging tree ornaments again. Nobody wanted to hear the tree tip over in the middle of the night because of an overenthusiastic cat, attracted by tempting tassels.

“You’ve gotta take her. I don’t want her wandering around and getting in a fight with one of the dogs,” she said, trying to pass Olivia onto Austin for the rest of the night.

“Why can’t you take her? She’s used to your room.”

“’Cause she might do that weird thing again where she licks Rosie’s head. Do you know how weird that is? It’s like she thinks Rosie’s a kitten that needs help grooming. It’s not normal.”

Austin ended up agreeing (he actually didn’t mind taking her, only hadn’t immediately agreed for the sake of it), though not without pointing out it wasn’t _his_ fault she had adopted weird cats, and the three of them managed to take turns in the upstairs bathroom without much hassle or much noise.

Much to their relief, Rosie was still sound asleep and dry when they went in to check on her. Her arm had popped out from under her blanket, in the way that babies always seemed to manage, and was resting up beside her head, her little hand in a relaxed fist. She always looked so sweet when she was sleeping.

Harry sat on the floor, watching over her while Taylor changed into her pyjamas. He smoothed out the white blanket, making sure Rosie was tucked in snugly without it being too restricting. His hand lingered for a moment over her small body, feeling the rhythmic rise of her chest and beat of her heart. There was nothing more terrifying than the thought of that suddenly stopping.

With her red flannelette shirt buttoned up modestly, Taylor moved to kneel down beside him, resting her hand fondly on his shoulder. He glanced up at her, smiling softly.

“She’s so beautiful,” he whispered, his adoration evident in his voice, and immediately she smiled back.

“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning in closer. “And we made her.”

Harry giggled, his smile remaining as she kissed him, slow and loving. He really hadn’t forgotten _that_ part.

Pulling themselves away, in case they ended up disturbing their daughter, they climbed their way into bed, on their usual sides. With Taylor switching off the lamp on the nightstand, they gravitated toward each other under the blankets, turning to face each other, searching for hands, hips, thighs, feet – somewhere to touch, to be connected.

“Did you have fun today?” Taylor whispered, once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she found his face, their legs intertwined and Harry’s arm comfortably draped over her waist. The quiet was comfortable, almost giving the illusion that it was just them two.

“I did,” Harry whispered back, absentmindedly rubbing his hand slowly over her back. “Your family’s wonderful.”

She must’ve picked something up in his voice, for she said, “But you miss yours.”

“I do.”

Taylor paused, biting her lip. She had been afraid this would happen. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Don’t be. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Though she still felt guilty, she couldn’t help but begin to break into a smile, which he kissed eagerly, making up for the many moments over the course of the day where he had had to resist. Her hand slid up to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing gently over his cheekbone even after they pulled away.

“D’you think your parents really like me?”

“You wouldn’t be here if they didn’t.”

“I don’t know, you can be awfully persuasive,” Harry smiled at her; he knew that firsthand. “Just… I don’t want them to think I’ve been taking advantage of you all this time. I don’t want _you_ to think that, either.”

“Harry,” Taylor sighed, searching for his free hand with her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think that at all. And neither do they. They know how happy you make me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of – did you see how your dad looked at me the last time he saw us kiss? I had this terrible feeling he could read my mind and he wasn’t liking what he was seeing.”

“My dad really isn’t a scary person.”

“He’s scary when you realise he’s just seen you thinking about taking off his one and only daughter’s clothes.”

Taylor giggled, aware that he wasn’t only joking. If anything, he’d toned it down. “Well maybe you shouldn’t make a habit of thinking about taking off my clothes while we’re in his company.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“I don’t think it’s your _heart_ you’re thinking with when you’re thinking like that.”

They kept their laughter quiet, so as not to disturb Rosie or the others sleeping in nearby rooms. Austin’s was closest, on the opposite side of the hall and their closets sharing a wall, while their parents were down the other end. As long as they kept their voices down, they would be perfectly fine.

Many of their nights together were spent like this. It wasn’t a conscious thing they had decided on, but there was something about the late hour of the night, the warm protection of the covers, and the resounding quiet in the darkness that make it so easy for them to talk. About anything, really; it wasn’t all serious, but when they had something to get off their chest, it was made easier under the cover of night. They were safe in bed together.

Their honesty was part of the reason they were doing so well now. And they really _were_ – they were more than happy together, confident in their stability and where they were going, the thought of goodbye no longer in the forefront of their minds. It was never going to simply be a walk in the park, and it didn’t help to know that their relationship was a source of entertainment for the general public, but they would be okay. Things were working out, and they were enjoying themselves – that was what truly mattered.

“I have a surprise for you tomorrow night,” Taylor teasingly told him, after a little while. His hand sliding up under the back of her shirt had reminded her.

“What sort of surprise?” Harry asked her, hoping it was the sort of surprise he was really into.

“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”

“Then why did you have to tell me that there’s _going_ to be a surprise?” he laughed.

“So the anticipation would drive you crazy,” she reasoned simply, smiling as it made him laugh again. That was a sound she would never tire of hearing.

“Can I have a hint, at least?” Harry tried to bargain, and was _very_ glad he did indeed.

Her hint was a kiss, one that was slow and deepened when she parted her lips slightly. He embraced the invitation without hesitation, inching closer so their bodies were flush, sharing body heat. On a winter’s night especially, he couldn’t possibly think of anything better.

With Taylor’s hand tangling in his hair, Harry moaned quietly against her lips, making her smile. There were many reactions he loved getting from her, but all those natural smiles… They said it all, really.

“You know me well,” Harry murmured, earning another smile, which he kissed again hastily.

“You’re my best friend,” Taylor whispered, without a single doubt in her mind. When he kissed her again, she knew he was telling her the same.

They remained like that for a while, just kissing long and arduous. It was lovely, a secret in the middle of the night, no sounds from the house save the wind blowing through the branches of the backyard tree. A background track of rain outside as well would’ve been the one thing to top it off, but they weren’t expecting any tonight.

Taylor already felt jellified by the time Harry decided to roll on top of her, pushing her onto her back. If there had been light enough to see, she would’ve admired the cherry red of his swollen lips as he sat up, but could only revel in the touch of his hands, blindly undoing the buttons of her shirt and spreading it open. Warm and tender, his hands moved up over her stomach and cupped her bare breasts, pads of his thumbs rubbing circles over her already stiffened nipples.

“Is this okay?” Harry asked her quietly, for as much as they both knew he wanted this, he would stop if she thought they were crossing a line here in her teenage room.

“Take your shirt off,” she instructed, the momentary absence of his touch as he pulled his long-sleeved top up over his head only making her want it more.

Under the blankets, they were toasting, sharing each other’s increasing body heat, especially where their bare skinned torsos touched. Their kisses grew more heated too, as he played with her breasts and she wrapped a leg around his waist lazily, holding his hips firmly against hers. Both of them thought terrible things that shouldn’t be thought (let alone done) with her parents just down the hall.

And Harry felt guilty for it, like he was betraying the trust he had been granted, but he couldn’t help that he was in love with their daughter. He was so madly in love with her, and his body always ached to show her the passion he couldn’t express with words.

“I need you, Tay,” Harry had to tell her, before merely kissing her drove him crazy. She recognised that he was giving her a choice, that she could decide how much or how little she was comfortable giving him. And god, did she love that he was so respectful, but he was being ridiculous if he thought she didn’t crave him as much as he did her.

Sliding her hand to the back of his neck, Taylor fiddled with the curls of hair at the nape, whispering the magic words, “I’m yours.”

It took a bit of shuffling, wriggling around to get their pyjamas pants around their ankles, but when they finally coupled…

“Oh, _god_ ,” Harry sighed heavily, slipped heavenly between her thighs. She smiled, stroking his hair softly.

“I don’t think today of all day’s you should be using His name in vain,” she said teasingly, which made him stifle a laugh.

“’M not. ‘M saying thank you.”

“What for?”

“For you.”

Slow and steady, they quietly made love in the privacy of the middle of the night. It really felt like it was just the two of them, no brother next door, no parents down the hall, no baby on the floor at the feet of the bed. It was like it was just the two of them for miles and miles, like nothing at all mattered. Nothing except that they loved each other, oh, gosh, they never wanted to let one another go.

The best things were the ones that weren’t anticipated, the surprises life threw at you that changed the course of your day, your week, your month, your year, your _life_. What had brought them back together had been so wildly unexpected, but neither of them would change a thing. This was who they were, and they had never been better.

“ _Harry_ ,” Taylor moaned airily, something he would never, _ever_ tire of hearing. She had arched her back and she looked and felt so beautiful lying underneath him, rocking in perfect time with his languid movements.

“Shh, darling.”

“I don’t want to be quiet for you,” Taylor countered, her smile evident in the flirty yet honest tone of her voice. It made Harry chuckle gently – _that_ was something he was going to be cataloguing for future reference.

She kept herself quiet anyway, though, since she didn’t really want to let anyone know how they were sharing their night. But even so, it was the holidays, and she finally had someone she wanted to be with and who wanted to be with her – who could blame her for wanting to indulge in that?

They held onto each other long after their passion fireworked. Neither wanted to disentwine; Harry rested his head on her shoulder, while Taylor ran her short nails up and down his back, giving him tingles. His breathing had slowed, and she thought he might have fallen asleep already in his post-euphoria bliss, until he made her smile once again as his soft, sleepy voice broke through the silence.

“Tay? This is the best Christmas ever.”

Though she giggled – she was sure he was only saying that for what they had just done – as she cuddled her man, tangling a hand in his thick hair, she really felt the same.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Not so much when they were awoken a couple hours later.

It was still dark, yet Taylor’s eyes snapped open immediately when she heard the sound of her baby crying. She hastily fumbled her way out of bed, while Harry stretched beside her, dazed and confused.

“Right here, baby,” she said thickly as she scrambled forward, hoping to reach Rosie before she fully woke up everyone else. “I’m here, baby. Shh, mommy’s here, what’s wrong, baby?”

With Rosie scooped in her arms in record time, the sound of her voice seemed to soothe her: she settled within moments, her cries depleting to heavy silence. Taylor held her close, rocking her gently to help her get to sleep again promptly.

“She okay?” Harry murmured from the bed, having come to enough senses to sit up to see what the matter was – still in the warmth of the blankets, though, rather than the sudden cold of the room, but she couldn’t blame him for that.

“Bad dream, I think,” Taylor guessed, keeping her gaze fixed down on her daughter, in case she was wrong. “It’s okay, baby. Shhhh…”

Whatever had disturbed her had left almost as quickly, much to their relief. Taylor was still concerned, even after Rosie seemed to fall back to sleep just fine in her arms; she held onto her for longer than needed, reluctant to part. She only wished she had done up more of her shirt buttons earlier, so the cold air wouldn’t be tickling her décolletage.

“What’s a bad dream for a baby, d’you think?” Harry wondered, after she eventually tucked Rosie back into her cot and retuned to bed. He cuddled up to her, helping to restore her warmth.

“Being eaten by a great dane, probably,” Taylor guessed dryly, making him laugh through his nose. He kissed her on the cheek, and they managed to drift back off to sleep together knowing their daughter was safe and sound.

They weren’t roused again for a few more hours, when the sun had risen (albeit hidden behind a cast of clouds) and the household was up and moving again. Taylor slipped out first, to find Rosie awake and wet; Harry woke to find her changing her on the floor, and he watched on lazily, smiling when she noticed.

Downstairs, they had breakfast as a family, where Harry insisted on making everyone’s tea, a small but kind gesture. If anyone had any idea of how they had spent their night after the lights were off, they didn’t give any indication.

They _had_ heard Rosie’s earlier cries, though, and wanted to make sure she was doing okay. Rosie looked perfectly fine sitting in her mother’s lap, content after having been given a bottle; her interrupted sleep had long left her mind.

After getting dressed for the day, Harry stayed upstairs for a while, using the privacy of Taylor’s room to video chat with his own family. It was strange, talking to his mum and sister on FaceTime rather than seeing them in person at this time of year. He’d managed being away from them alright so far, but sitting to talk to them on the screen of his phone brought on the pangs of homesickness he had done well to ignore.

He appreciated being welcomed into the Swift’s home, he really did, but it still wasn’t the easiest, for a young man who put a lot of importance on his family.

The compromise was their plans to head to England in a few days, so Harry would still get to see his family around the holiday season. They were all excited to see Rosie again, on her first ever trip out of the country (both were nervous about the long flight, hoping she would sleep through a lot of it).

“Oh, she’s gotten so _big!_ ” Anne exclaimed delightedly, when Taylor brought Rosie in for her to join in on the video chat to see her other grandmother and her aunty. Rosie had been dressed in red and white striped coveralls, making her look like a chubby candy cane.

“She can’t wait to see you guys,” Taylor beamed proudly, popping up in the frame. “Get ready for a ton of cuddles.”

“I can’t wait,” his mum smiled back at her genuinely. “Are you having a nice Christmas?”

“Yeah! It’s so nice having Harry here; I’m so sorry for stealing him away from you.”

“Don’t be; we’ll see you all soon enough.”

Taylor only hung around for a few minutes, not wanting to intrude too much on his family time. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him here _and_ take up all his catch up time.

“My mom sends her love; she really appreciated the card you sent,” Taylor remembered to mention before excusing herself, and Anne smiled back at her on the screen warmly.

“Oh, good! I was afraid it wasn’t going to arrive in time. The one she sent was beautiful, tell her thank you for me, please.”

In a matter of months, their mothers had become close enough to keep in contact and send each other Christmas cards – and _that_ was something Taylor and Harry could only have hoped for a year ago.

They didn’t end up heading off until late afternoon, after a hearty traditional lunch that had the lot of them stuffed. Leftovers were thrust upon them in tupperwear containers, which would save them from cooking anything different later for dinner, if they weren’t in the mood. They still had plenty of cinnamon cookies and gingerbread men left at home anyway, as well as the various confectionary they had been gifted, that could easily tide them through the rest of the day snack-wise.

Their leaving early brought on feelings of guilt on to Harry, even though it had been Taylor’s idea to depart for their own little Christmas as a trio in the first place. Her parents, who probably would’ve liked them to stay longer, didn’t seem offended, though, and he made sure to thank them profusely for the kindness and generosity they had shown him.

The home they returned to was contrastingly silent, though just as festively decorated. The cats were more than happy to be home, practically sprinting out of their separate carriers as soon as they were opened. Both of them darted off with restored freedom, going to find somewhere cosy to sit without any fears of unwanted dog appearances

Their own Christmas tree still had a ton of presents spread out underneath, the vast majority of them for Rosie. Admittedly, they _had_ gone a tad overboard, especially when the gifts she had been given from their family and friends were factored in, but who could blame them? They were first-time parents who were atrociously rich, and who wanted to give their beautiful baby girl the world.

By the end of their unwrapping ordeal, they ended up completely surrounded by discarded wrapping paper and had one spoilt little girl in need of a nap – good thing they had bought her that new pink night light in the shape of a star, a gentle expression on its little face. She had a couple new onesies to sleep in too, as well as some dresses, t-shirts, shoes… Rosie’s wardrobe was fuller than a lot of adults’.

“I’m _so_ not putting any of her stuff in here,” Taylor decided, as she again admired the embroidered Gucci handbag he had given her. The black chevron velvet was adorned with floral appliqués, ‘LOVED’ written across the top with added glass pearls. She loved it.

“Don’t want her to pull the pearls off,” Harry agreed, lying down on his stomach by her, keeping an eye on Rosie, who was sucking on another teddy’s foot, her eyes closed, on the cusp of sleep. “You really like it?”

“I love it, babe. It’s beautiful,” Taylor smiled at him truly. “I’ll take it out next date night if you wear your new shirt.”

“We haven’t had a date night in ages,” Harry realised, though he was more than happy to change that in his new black button down, sheer with black embroidered roses. It had been a perfect choice, one she couldn’t wait to see him wear.

“We could count tonight? Some chocolate, red wine, _Love Actually_ …”

“Taking our clothes off…” he added in the same light tone, which brightened her grin.

“If you’re lucky,” she said, as if she didn’t already have _that_ part planned. The new lingerie she had ordered was tucked away at the back of a drawer, waiting for tonight.

Shifting when Rosie fell asleep on the floor, Taylor carefully picked her up, so she would be more comfortable. Harry collected her blanket for her, helping to wrap her up comfortably in Taylor’s arms once she settled on the couch. He went to make them cups of tea, and as they sat companionably together, she longed for Rosie to stay this little, enough to cuddle her up in her arms and watch her sleep.

It was exciting to watch her grow, though, too. At six months, there was a new world of things she could play with – evidenced by all that was spread across the living room floor – new things she could do and learn. Before they knew it, she would be able to crawl, walk, talk. Their little girl wouldn’t be so little anymore.

Both of them were so proud, when she woke up from her nap and wanted to play. Laying out her play blanket out for her, they set her new toys all around her, letting her pick what she was most interested in playing with. The decision was overwhelming: she dabbled here and there, picking up soft toys and trying to figure out the more logical games they had gotten for her. The soft elephant toy which played a soothing melody when you pulled its string seemed to be her favourite so far.

“Do you think she’s happy?” Taylor asked, as they watched on from the sofa, giving her some space to explore on her own.

“She’s surrounded by a shit ton of toys, I think she’s happy,” Harry pointed out, making them both laugh.

“I mean generally. Do you think she’s happy, here with us?”

That was the one thing that meant most to her: that Rosie was healthy and happy. Aside from the material things, they gave her all the love they had and more – but what if that wasn’t enough? It wasn’t as if she could just _tell_ them.

“How many times do you think you see her smile or hear her laugh in a day?” Harry answered with another question, putting his arm around her shoulders and guiding her to lean comfortably against him.

“I lose track now,” he said, not like when Rosie had just started to smile and they actually counted how many times she did in the one day, delighted by the ever-increasing number. These days, it was too much to try to tally.

“I think you’ve answered your own question,” Harry said gently, smiling as she snuggled up against him. He hadn’t so much questioned Rosie’s happiness: she seemed pretty cheerful, for a baby, and was undeniably safe and sound here. Well, as safe as she could be when she seemed determined to befriend four-legged animals who had sharp claws and weren’t afraid to use them.

They kept watching her, until Taylor broke the quiet again, her tone still soft as she revealed, “I want more.”

Her cheeks turned pink as he turned his smile on her, his eyes lighting with the possibility. “Not just yet,” she added, before he got too excited. “I’m so not ready to be pregnant again–”

“But you looked so radiant.”

“I didn’t look so radiant when I was nearly throwing up all over your Gucci shoes, did I?” she quipped, which had him stifling a laugh at the memory. Okay, she hadn’t look too radiant _then_ , but that day had been one the proudest days of his entire life. He was thrilled to be able to do it all over again with her one day.

“How many are you thinking?”

“I don’t know… maybe another two or three, at least, but I think I’d like more. I’d like a big family.”

Harry nodded, and had her laughing when he unexpectedly replied, “Have ten kids and teach them how to dream.” She loved when he did that. She didn’t know _why_ he did (it probably had a lot to do with how it made her smile), but she loved it.

Tilting her head up, Taylor gave him an adoring kiss, which he returned with a wonderful smile. “Please never change.”

“I wasn’t planning on.”

She kissed him again, glancing back toward the blanket spread on the floor nearby, a little apprehensive to look him in the eye to see his reaction when she said, “I want us to be… _official_ , before we have another.”

It went terribly quiet, aside from Rosie’s nonsense sounds as she shook a new rattle. Taylor immediately doubted herself, even though Harry had made it abundantly clear that he felt the same, with a promise ring on one finger and a tattoo of her initial on his opposite wrist. Still, she doubted it until he took a gentle hold of her left hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss over her ring finger. Then, she blushed all over again.

“You’re ridiculously charming, y’know?” she tried to play it off, but he knew she loved it.

“Only for you.” He was still holding her hand up to his lips, and his warm breath tickled her skin.

“Well I should hope so,” she quipped dryly, breaking into a smile as he snorted.

“Will you…” Lowering her hand, he wet his lips a little with the tip of his tongue. “Will you show me what sort of rings you like?”

“You know what I like, babe,” Taylor reminded him, flashing the ring she constantly wore on her right hand.

“I don’t want to pick something you’re not going to like,” Harry expressed regardless. He thought he _could_ choose an engagement ring that she would love, but he didn’t want to make a misstep on something she was going to be wearing for a long time. It wasn’t exactly a good way to start, was it? “I’d really like you to, um, have a look around with me sometime, give me a bit of a better idea.”

Looking up at him, Taylor considered the sincerity in his features. “You’re serious about this? We don’t have to rush anything.”

“I know, just, um, ‘s good to be prepared.” He shrugged his other shoulder casually, as if they were talking about it offhand. As if he hadn’t been thinking about it on and off for quite some time now.

Taylor smiled at him, giving him another kiss, very thankful that, for a wonderful change, they were on the same page these days.

When she pulled back after a moment or so, she wasn’t expecting him to start giggling. She followed his gaze back over to Rosie, who while they were talking, had somehow managed to spin around and roll onto her back. That was unexpected enough, but she also had her legs kicked up in the air, her hands reaching upwards for them.

“What is she _doing?_ ”

“I think she’s trying to put her feet in her mouth,” Taylor guessed, judging by Rosie’s wide open mouth, tongue poking out a bit. She wasn’t doing too bad a job, her bum lifting up as she tried to get her legs closer to her head. It just looked strange.

“She gets that from you.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry laughed. “When have you _ever_ seen me do that?”

“I haven’t. It just looks like something you would do.”

Harry gave her a bizarre expression at her teasing, which just made her grin. Jokingly blaming all their daughter’s weird traits on him was something she was already having fun with.

“What are you doing, Rosie?” Taylor called over sweetly. Rosie’s head turned toward the sound of her mother’s voice, though her legs still remained up in the air. “Hey? You playing with your little feet?”

Rosie whined in reply, thrusting a hand out toward them instead.

“You wanna come over here now, sweetie? Can you crawl over to mommy and daddy?”

They knew she couldn’t, but it wouldn’t be the first time she surprised them by suddenly doing something new. Now that she had their attention again, Rosie seemed to want it more than having her feet in her mouth, and she hummed until one of them would inevitably come pick her up.

“Aww, you wanna cuddle?” Taylor cooed when she resettled on the couch with Rosie, tucked again under Harry’s arm. Rosie smiled back at her; she adored being held. “You love a good cuddle, don’t you, baby? Just like daddy.”

They smiled at each other, as Taylor guided Rosie to rest her head against her shoulder. She cradled her warmly, just as happy to have her cuddled up against her chest as Rosie was. All the better, when Rosie started giggling over the silly faces Harry began pulling at her. He contorted his face all sorts of wacky ways, just so she would keep giggling, her face lit up with a beautiful dimpled smile.

Harry was a fantastic father. Every moment she watched him with their baby, Taylor swore she loved him even more.

“Harry?” she said gently, after he kissed Rosie repetitively on her rosy cheek. Harry looked at her with a soft expression, as he touched Rosie’s little foot, rubbing his thumb over the top. “I’m sorry for taking you away from your family today.”

To her surprise, Harry’s smile only grew fonder, no trace of sadness in it as he shook his head. “You and Rosie are my family.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for getting this far along - I hope you've enjoyed it so far! Before you jump into this last chapter, I'd just like to make a little note about the album involved. I stuck with the title 'Reputation' out of convenience, really, since the themes would be similar to the actual album, though the songs on it wouldn't be exact, obviously. There are a couple tracks/videos/lines that are mentioned that you'll know, but you can kind of just imagine the rest however you'd like it to be. The final track, which I left untitled, I imagined something like 'Homesick' by Dua Lipa with Chris Martin's background vocals, except with a happier tone to the lyrics, so you can use that as a reference for that particular track (it's on the playlist if you haven't heard it before!). With the accompanying tour, as well, I generally kept the same sort of timeline as the actual Reputation tour, though I did split up the North American and European dates to be separate, as opposed to the European dates being in the middle of the North American tour. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope this all make sense and you enjoy the ending!

The peace of the afternoon belied the craziness that was to come.

Sitting together under one of the backyard trees, it felt the normal that they had become accustomed to. Many of their summer days had been spent outdoors like this, lathered in sunscreen and embracing the warm weather. It was the last week of August now, and Rosie was still practically living in little dresses and sunhats.

Their little girl was fourteen months old, blossoming into a lovely child. Sure, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows – she got moody if she didn’t get enough sleep or if her tummy hurt or if she just didn’t feel like playing nice – but they were loving having her even more all the time.

Her first birthday had been a major occasion. On June 23rd, they had thrown her her first birthday bash, with friends coming from all over to celebrate their daughter’s big day. Their few friends who also had kids brought them along to play with her, and only one made her cry when they ‘borrowed’ a ball from right out of her hands.

Dressed in a lacy white dress and matching headband, Rosalie had been spoiled tremendously. Aside from the elaborate set up of pastel balloons and streamers, both inside and outside, and an extensive snack table featuring stacks of party hats, she had been showered in gifts from her family and their friends who were more than happy to have an excuse to be browsing baby sections. She had much more than she needed by now, but maybe, one day, she would have a little sister to pass the things she outgrew onto.

The most delightful part of the day had been watching Rosie eat her cake. She had made a giant mess of it, grabbing fistfuls of her slice of vanilla cake with both hands, not all making it into her mouth. It had ended up all over her face, crumbs littered down the front of her dress and all around her, and she looked so wonderfully happy, none of them could look at her without smiling.

The cake had been one Taylor had made herself. Opting for classic vanilla, so Rosie would actually like it, she had covered it with creamy frosting, decorating the top more elaborately. With a border of pink icing flowers around the edge, she had piped ‘Happy 1st Birthday Rosie!’ in the middle in the same pale pink, drawing another flower beside her name. Some little pastel star decorations sprinkled around the sides and carefully placed on top finished it off. It was Taylor’s favourite cake she had ever made.

So it hadn’t been hard to decide that the one social media post she planned to make was going to be accompanied by a simple picture of the cake. Her dedication to her daughter’s first birthday was well thought out and awfully emotional, the second of the like she had made this year so far.

Harry’s had been a Polaroid of the pair of them, not close enough to be all that focused. It was from the party, taken out in the garden. Holding onto her hands to hold her upright (she could crawl but not yet walk), he had been walking her around with her little feet resting on top of his, moving forward with every slow step he took. Taylor had taken the picture out of fondness for the sight, one she thought was a fitting insight for him to share as to what he was really like as a father.

Only a handful of photos had been added to Instagram stories – and those all done with permission, held off until after they had each made their own posts first. They had all been general pictures, featuring decorations rather than guests, though still easy for fans to piece together. The only exception had been Gigi, who after an aesthetic picture of a bunch of balloons against the clear blue sky, captioned ‘happy b’day to the cutest 1yo around’, had added another she had taken jokingly. ‘her parents cute too’ had captioned the photo of Taylor sitting on Harry’s lap, unaware that it was even being taken, while Harry looked right at Gigi, teasingly flipping her off. Taylor had laughed when she had been shown it, playfully prodded Harry for making such a gesture at a _child’s_ birthday party, and hadn’t minded it being shared with everyone to see that what they had wasn’t just a highly fabricated, exaggerated lie.

“Where’d you think you’re going, miss?” Harry laughed, as Rosie now began to crawl away from their little circle on the grass. He was lying stretched out on his side, while Rosie suddenly decided to start heading off in the opposite direction, showing off a glimpse of white nappy as her dress rode up.

Letting her go, they watched on as their daughter went exploring, keeping a careful eye on her lest she try to venture too far; she could be pretty speedy, once she got going. It was a good thing they were vigilant, since when she reached a stray daisy that had popped up in the lawn, she did the obvious: she sat, ripped it out, and went to eat it.

“No!” Taylor exclaimed, but that didn’t stop Rosie from putting the white flower in her mouth. “Rosie, no. Don’t eat that, it’s yucky.”

Rosie didn’t seem to agree, as she chewed it with the few teeth she had grown. So Harry went off to intervene, crawling over himself in significantly fewer strides and kneeling behind her, putting his hand out under her chin.

“C’mon, sweetheart, we don’t eat those.”

“Rosie, spit it out right now,” Taylor instructed firmly, her Listen To Your Mom voice aways getting a smile out of Harry. It was one he heard more since Rosie had started crawling, though one he really wasn’t used to. “Spit. It. Out.”

Since she seemed disinclined to listen, Harry took one for the team and shoved his finger in her mouth, confirming that she hadn’t yet swallowed. Rosie squirmed in protest over having her mouth invaded, and with her lips prised apart, she unceremoniously let the mashed up daisy fall off her little pink tongue and onto Harry’s open hand. The half-chewed petals were shadows of their former selves, completely coated in saliva, and really, really not what you would want in the palm of your hand. Harry quickly tossed it aside, wiping his hand on the grass.

“Good girl, Rosie,” Taylor praised from her drool-free spot a few feet away. “We’re not gonna eat any flowers again, are we?”

Rosie went to tear up a fistful of grass, which they could probably take as a _no_.

“D’you want some real food, sweetheart?” Harry offered. “Here, you play with mummy while I go get something.”

He had her giggling as he lifted her up under the arms and dangled her in the air as he shuffled on his knees back over to Taylor. Grass stains already marked his bare knees from where they had spent the afternoon messing around; what was a bit more? While he headed back inside, Taylor gave Rosie a cuddle, readjusting her spotted bucket hat so it sat properly on her head. She didn’t always like wearing hats, particularly when it was too hot out, but she didn’t have nearly enough of her light blonde hair for them to consider not giving her any extra protection over the hotter months. Plus, whether she liked it or not, she looked adorable in them.

When Harry returned a few minutes later, he came bearing ice cream. Balancing three bowls in his hands, he arrived with a smile, plopping back down in the shade by them. He gave the smallest bowl to Rosie, filled with one scoop of chocolate ice cream; he had scooped the more decadent salted caramel into their bowls.

Ice cream was another one of the foods that was guaranteed to make a mess with Rosie. While she had been given a plastic child’s spoon, she wasn’t coordinated enough to use it properly. Taylor tried to help her, in between mouthfuls of her own treat, but Rosie got impatient and took matters into her own hands. Literally. She started eating it with her hands.

“She’s going to need a good bath after this,” Taylor observed, as Rosie happily sucked on her melted ice cream-covered fist.

“She looks fine to me,” Harry replied dryly, which got him an amused look from Taylor.

“Said by the man with ice cream dribbling down his chin.”

His hurriedly wiping around his mouth with the back of his hand got her to laugh, and he couldn’t help but grin back at her. God, _this_ – this was everything to him.

By the end of her bowl, Rosie was a sticky mess. Drips of ice cream were drying all over both her hands, all around her mouth, down the front of her dress, and even a few stray drops on her feet that hadn’t survived the journey to her mouth. Even so, she was all smiles, her eyes gleaming with the promise that her sugar high was going to have her crawling around all over the place like a little terror.

“What have we started?” Harry said with a chuckle as Rosie took to banging her spoon against the rim of her bowl, making a clacking sound that always got old fast.

“You’re the one who gave her the chocolate,” Taylor pointed out.

“She loves the chocolate.”

“Doesn’t she just?” Smiling, Taylor licked her thumb and rubbed it over Rosie’s sticky cheek. She frowned adorably, trying to move her face out the way, but Taylor didn’t let up until Rosie didn’t look quite so grubby. At least she hadn’t put her bowl on her head this time.

“You don’t want to nap now, do you?” Taylor said to her, when Rosie began bashing her spoon harder in defiance of having her cheeks cleaned. An afternoon nap certainly didn’t seem in the cards, with _those_ sparkly blue eyes.

Harry, on the other hand, flopped down onto his back, resting his arms underneath his head. “I wouldn’t mind one. ‘S nice lying in the sun.”

“You’re in the shade.”

Nudging her with his foot, Harry laughed as she unleashed the baby on him in retaliation. Rosie was suddenly lifted up onto his stomach, and once she got her bearings, she started crawling her way up his chest, giggling as her sweet face loomed above him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said cheerily, though his tone changed when she pressed a tiny hand against his cheek. “Your hands are sticky. Eww, what– why? Why’re you doing that?”

His face had evidently become a drum, since Rosie started patting her dirty hands all over it, squealing in delight at the particularly amusing sound his cheeks made. He playfully emphasised it by filling his cheeks up with air, making Rosie shriek at the silly sound it created when she squished it out. Each time he repeated it, she seemed to find it even funnier, the beauty of young children.

The playfulness he displayed with Rosie was one thing Taylor found herself loving more and more. As he began poking Rosie’s cheeks in return, saying, “What does _this_ button do?” as he bopped the tip of her nose, Taylor couldn’t stop smiling over at them. He was such a loving father, so involved in her everyday life in a way that she could’ve only hoped for. She knew he worried – she did too, regularly questioning whether what she was doing was right – but she didn’t doubt how much he truly cared about Rosie. That was what really mattered.

He cared a whole damn lot about her, too; that he had made abundantly clear. It was in the smaller things, too: how he made her cups of tea and neatened their bed, told her bad jokes (“Why didn’t the dentist like her award?” “Why?” “Because it was a plaque.”), brushed her hair, and always, _always_ kissed her goodnight.

He still made her insides flutter. Most of the time, she felt all gooey inside for him, didn’t give a damn if she was a giant cheeseball when it came to him. Maybe she was still in a honeymoon sort of phase, or extra sensitive now she was a mother, or maybe it was just the truth. Taylor had never been more in love with anyone than she was now with Harry.

So, as Harry beamed up at Rosie, saying, “You going to give daddy a kiss?” and only continued to make her laugh as he pulled kissy faces at her in demonstration, yeah, Taylor really couldn’t wipe from her face the overwhelming affection she felt for her beautiful baby and her fiancé.

That’s right. _Fiancé_.

It had all happened on what seemed like a perfectly normal trip back to England. The couple weeks they had spent there after last Christmas had been wonderful; it had barely taken much consideration when Harry suggested they head back there in May. She knew that he missed seeing his family (they regularly saw her parents) and that they wanted the chance to spend more time with little Rosie. The thing that had surprised her most was that he suggested they take some time for themselves while they were there, like having a mini holiday.

“Your parents have already done so much for us, and I know how much mum would love to look after Rosie for us for a few days,” Harry had convinced her with endearing logic, that was in actual fact perfectly calculated and already all planned out. It seemed everyone had known except her.

Anne had been delighted to take care of her granddaughter, while the two of them spent a few days in a nearby cottage. Taylor had found it remarkably cosy to be staying in a small bed-and-breakfast in the countryside, as opposed to the swanky hotels with high security. She felt just as safe, too; maybe even more so.

The real treat had been going to visit the Cholmondeley Castle gardens – on the thirteenth, which should’ve been her first clue. Harry had driven them, windows down and music playing, to the beautiful sweeping residence. Though the grand castle itself was closed to the public, they had the opportunity to have some homemade afternoon tea from the Tea Room and wander the vast gardens, leaving Taylor enchanted.

It had been a blessedly clear day, casting warm sunshine over the immaculately tended garden. Lush hedges and blooming roses had put Taylor in a perfect mood (coupled with not having a baby to constantly be watching over), in part emphasised by the nervous joy that was practically bubbling out of Harry. He was trying hard to keep it cool, so as not to give anything away too soon, but the ring box was practically burning a hole in his pocket, had been trying to leap out of its hiding place in the inner pocket of his Burberry trench coat hanging up nonchalantly in their shared closet for weeks.

Alone together, under an archway of roses in the newly revitalised rose garden, Taylor had first thought he was tying his shoelace when he got down on one knee. She was too busy watching some wrens flit about in a nearby tree to realise that he didn’t _have_ shoelaces; he had worn his staple Gucci loafers, the very pair she had nearly thrown up all over while in labour last June. When he had taken her hand, gaining her attention, Taylor had audibly gasped when it registered what was actually happening.

While they had talked about it, she hadn’t really been expecting him to propose anytime soon. She had shown him some rings she liked online, to give him an idea for later on, nothing urgent. They had the whole rest of their lives together, after all.

And Harry wanted to spend that with a ring on her finger. A gorgeous glittering diamond ring, a circular cut with a border of smaller diamonds, set in a white gold band. It was custom designed and terribly expensive, only the best for his very best friend.

Taylor loved it. She had nearly burst into tears of joy during his emotional _I love you_ speech, his casual “You’ll never have to be alone; I love you and that’s all I really know,” making her laugh, her smile blindingly bright. She had nearly toppled him over after her ecstatic “ _Yes!!!_ ” when she threw her arms around him once he stood back up. Laughing, he had picked her up and spun her around; as soon as her feet touched the ground again, he sealed it with an impassioned kiss.

The entire rest of the day (the rest of the trip, for that matter), they had been unable to wipe the smiles from their faces whenever they looked at each other. Having their own private room where they didn’t have to worry about being heard by any family members had also suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea, as they celebrated with a bottle of champagne he had bought in hope and kissed each other long into the night.

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks, Tay,” Harry had said to her (which wasn’t strictly true: he had asked permission from her parents first, a nerve-wracking experience that hadn’t been nearly as bad as he’d feared, and one that Taylor found wonderfully chivalrous). “Why wait?”

While that was true, that there was no necessity in waiting when they knew it was right, they were yet to make any wedding plans. There were rumours, of course, some falsified articles claiming they had already married in secret (some adding the bonus that she was pregnant again), but beyond their shared desire for a small private ceremony, they hadn’t detailed anything at all. After Taylor’s loved up announcement about her very own ‘Love Story moment’ and Harry’s equally adorable photo of them in his own post, they realised they were having too much fun calling each other fiancé.

That wasn’t the only bombshell Taylor was dropping this year.

It had kind of happened as an accident. After another studio session together earlier in the year, one of increasingly many, Harry had asked her, “When are you going to release any of this?” And when he pointed it out, she realised that ever since her last album, she _had_ made quite the collection of new material. Not all of it was good enough to release – not by her self-critical standards – but there were a lot that she was proud of, too.

While yes, she _longed_ to get back into music again, there were a lot of doubts in her mind. The major thing was Rosalie: she didn’t want to leave her daughter, not when she was so young and growing so quickly. She didn’t want to miss out on any of those important moments because of her work. She didn’t want to be a bad mom.

But she knew she wouldn’t be alone in all of it. Harry had her back 100% and was more than capable of taking care of Rosie on his own, and there were both of her families, their friends. She would have the support she needed, undoubtedly.

The support from everyone else was another thing entirely. It had been quite some time since she had been in the public eye, aside from being lied about and ridiculed. Could she really just put herself back out there and expect things to still be the same?

“What if nobody is interested anymore?” Taylor had confided in Harry, during one of their many discussions on where her career was headed next. “What if I’ve been gone so long I’m irrelevant?”

“You’d still be doing what you love,” Harry had reminded her. “Maybe that’s enough.”

Narrowing down a track list had been a lengthy process. At the time, she hadn’t even been sure if it was what she wanted, but what was the harm in deciding on a list of fifteen songs? If she decided against releasing another album just yet, it wouldn’t matter; she could simply save them for later.

But once she started, Taylor found she didn’t really want to stop. Before she knew it, she was in meetings with her label, doing a photo shoot in a New York studio, and recording her first music video, pulling everything together in a matter of a few months, all in time for an end of year release. At times, she was frustrated, and just wanted to back out, but that wasn’t the attitude she wanted to instil in her daughter. Taylor had pushed on with confident determination, and a whole lot of encouragement, and even if not a single person in the world bought it, at least she had made something she was proud of.

Harry was pretty damn proud of her, too. He had done everything he could to show his support: always listened and gave feedback where she wanted it, looked after Rosie on the days she spent in the studio by herself and when she went out of town. Throughout it all, he had been her rock, and she gifted him a dream come true in return.

Never did he think he would see it, but the last three tracks she had chosen had the magic words: ‘Written by Taylor Swift and Harry Styles’. He featured in subtle background vocals in each of them, most noticeable in the very last. He’d been honoured – though rather a bit nervous.

“You don’t have to say it’s me,” he’d told her, knowing that she had once used an alias so as not to take anything away from the song she’d penned. So had he, for that matter. This time, she had just smiled at him.

“I’m not ashamed of us, _fiancé_.”

And so after years of on and off song writing, many doubts and deliberations and countless wonderful moments in between, _Reputation_ had been born. In a matter of days, she would make her announcement, and whether or not anyone cared, she would still be sitting right here in her Nashville home, watching the love of her life kiss their daughter on the cheek.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

While things got crazy after dropping her first single off her new album, Taylor stayed almost silent. The internet buzzed with anticipation, while she sat at home, playing peek-a-boo with Rosie and baking cookies with Harry.

‘An exclusive preview of Reputation’ she had captioned her only other addition to Instagram, a video on her story of Rosie playing with her toy keyboard. She was pressing her little hands against the five brightly coloured keys, entertained by the music she could make, just like both of her parents. Taylor had been sceptical about sharing it, but she had filmed the short video from an angle, where Rosie’s face was only partly visible. It _was_ cute, and the one thing that most people commented on anyway was, of all things, her hair.

As she got older, it became more and more apparent that Rosie had inherited Taylor’s curly hair. Her soft blonde hair wasn’t very long, but it had already begun curling in small ringlets that promised to one day explode into a messy platinum halo.

As cliché as it sounded, Rosie really did look more like Taylor every day. Aside from her dimples – they were completely Harry, and completely adorable, too.

“We made a mini you,” Harry had teased, one time they were watching Rosie play with Olivia. She was giggling as she stroked the cat’s fur and heard her purring in appreciation – though Olivia wasn’t quite so thankful when she decided to climb on top of her for an all body hug. Olivia squirmed free and left Rosie wailing when her head smacked against the floor, her warm pillow having suddenly vanished.

The experience hadn’t stopped her from trying again, though. She had figured out that Olivia was the one to go for (Meredith tended to avoid her grabby hands at all costs) and she was often crawling after her to play. The very sweetest moment was the first time they had fallen asleep together, Rosie resting her head against Olivia’s soft body, dreaming together as friends.

A photo of it was framed and sitting on a bookshelf, one of many they had accumulated since Rosie was born. The biggest two prints were the ones hanging behind the piano, the one of Rosie with the ladybird on her nose, and another Austin had taken of Taylor and Harry dancing together in the same field.

A few lucky fans were going to get to see them, too.

For her sixth album, Taylor had decided to bring back the Secret Sessions. More consideration had gone into them this time round, what with a baby to think about. They planned to space them out, to make travelling easier on Rosie, who they weren’t even sure was going to like having so many people around her, particularly in her own home. Harry didn’t even know if he should be there.

“I could stay here and take care of Rosie, or we could go to my mum’s,” he had suggested, rather than intrude on something he didn’t think was really his. Taylor had smiled at him, though, cupping his face with both of her hands; he could feel the metal of the bands on each of her ring fingers.

“I wouldn’t have done any of this without you. I want you right there with me.”

Even though, in some way, he knew he had a right to be there – he _had_ written on a couple of the tracks, and he was her partner, after all – Harry still felt a bit nervous when they kicked it off in her London home. Not for the music – he was sure that her fans were going to enjoy it – but because he was guaranteed to be stared at, especially since he was looking after Rosie, who no one invited to the session had properly seen before. And he had to keep her quiet.

To his relief, Rosie was well behaved, generally content being held on his hip. The London house was familiar to her, but the amount of people invited inside wasn’t; she alternated between wide eyed stares and hiding against Harry’s shoulder. Some fans said hello to them, as they hung around with Taylor’s parents, and Harry tried to get her to wave hello, especially to the poor girl on the receiving end of her inquisitive hands: when she got restless and he set her down on the floor for a little bit, she crawled to the nearest person and charmingly pulled on one of their braids. Embarrassed, Harry quickly kneeled down and scooted her away from the girl, who had turned back in surprise.

“Sorry!” he immediately apologised, keeping a firm hold on Rosie, trying to stop her from squirming. “We don’t do that, sweetheart. You going to say sorry to mummy’s friend?”

Rosie mumbled as she waved her arms, which wasn’t really an apology, but the teenage girl smiled at her brilliantly as if she had just given an eloquent speech. “It’s okay. She’s so beautiful, wow.”

“Thank you,” he smiled back. “’S all Taylor, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Squeezing Rosie’s cheeks, she squealed in discomfort, making them laugh as her arms waved more urgently.

It turned out having your hair pulled by Taylor Swift’s daughter was a goal no one had thought they needed until now.

Apart from that small incident, it seemed like Rosie was going to be fine throughout the rest of the event. Safely back in Harry’s arms, where the only hair she could pull was his, she seemed okay with her pink kitty toy tucked in her embrace, until Taylor got to playing the first track through the speakers.

Startled by the unexpected sound, Rosie whined loudly, which sent a ripple of laughter through the room as heads turned to the culprit.

“I think it’s a no from her,” Harry joked it off, grinning across at Taylor as he bounced Rosie on his hip to settle her, guiding her head against his shoulder with his other hand.

They got through the rest of it with Andrea smartly giving her a dummy to ensure she was quiet, a trick that worked for each of the sessions, as they worked their way through LA and New York. By Rhode Island, though, she seemed done with it.

Rosie fussed earlier in the day, refusing her mushy baby food, no matter who tried to spoon it into her mouth. Sitting in a high chair, she wailed and slapped her hands on the table, until she unintentionally hit the edge of the plastic bowl and the contents flicked all down the front of Taylor’s shirt, some getting on her face for good measure.

“Rosie!” Taylor exclaimed in exasperation, wiping the pear-flavoured mash off her chin. The feeling of it seeping through her t-shirt was _not_ a nice one. “That was very naughty, look what you’ve done.”

It didn’t help that Harry, having retired from his attempt at feeding her and watching on from a nearby spot leaning against the counter, started humming the tune to her single ‘Look What You Made Me Do’. Taylor flashed him a dirty look, one that said very clearly that it could’ve been _him_ being sprayed with baby food and that if he didn’t stop humming she was personally going to find some more to throw at him.

Taylor had to shower and change her outfit _again_ , leaving Harry to try to coerce some food into their stubborn daughter’s mouth. Ahh, the glamourous life of parenthood.

Rosie’s fussiness didn’t end there, either. During the session later in the day, while Taylor shared stories about her latest songs before playing each one for the lucky group, Rosie wriggled around in Harry’s arms, trying to free herself, and literally spat her dummy. When it bounced on the floor, Harry conceded that she wasn’t happy in his arms, so he tried setting her down on the floor instead. That worked for all of ten seconds: on the floor, Rosie could no longer see the object of her affections, too small to see over all of their guest, and she immediately burst into tears.

In the middle of a song, Harry promptly scooped her back up again, hurrying into the next room with her kicking and screaming. It was safe to say _those_ weren’t the background vocals anyone wanted.

“Shh, sweetheart, what’s wrong, eh? D’you need to go to bed?” he cooed at her as he bounced her comfortingly, and perhaps she did actually understand what he was saying, since at the mention of bed, she began crying louder.

Of all the faces that turned to stare at them on their way out, Harry had missed the concerned look from Taylor. Her enjoyment in sharing her music had been instantly halted by the sound of her baby’s cries; she was unable to ignore the look Rosie had given her as Harry carried her out, the desperation as she stretched her arms out in her direction, trying to reach for her mommy.

Excusing herself, Taylor skirted the room in pursuit, not a single person surprised by her decision.

“Is she okay?” Taylor’s brow furrowed as she found Rosie red faced and Harry not having much luck in calming her.

“Think she’s just a bit upset.” Harry shrugged a shoulder, patting Rosie’s back gently as he turned around, still shushing her.

Taylor swept over to them, taking their young daughter into her arms, having a try at settling her herself. “What’s wrong, baby? Hey?”

It took a minute or so, but Rosie managed to stop crying now that she had found the comfort of her mom. Still snivelling, she clung onto Taylor’s shirt, not appearing like she wanted to let go.

“You just sick of being with daddy?” Taylor jested, smiling teasingly at Harry. “Hey? You sick of daddy?”

As Rosie pressed her cheek against Taylor’s shoulder, looking away from Harry, he had to laugh. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“I’ll take her. Can you grab her blanket and make her up a bottle? She hasn’t slept enough today.”

“Sure, love.” He stepped forward to kiss Rosie on the cheek, sneaking one on the lips from Taylor while they had a moment alone, making her smile.

They parted ways, Taylor cradling Rosie as she returned to her guests, apologising for her short absence. Rosie wasn’t sure how much she liked being at the centre of attention, everyone hanging on her mother’s every word; she turned her head more towards Taylor’s chest as they sat down on a chair at the front of the room, hiding.

While Taylor picked up where she had left off, Harry went about gathering Rosie’s blanket and her comforting kitty toy, as well as her dummy on the way to the kitchen, rinsing it clean as he waited for her milk formula to warm up.

Strangely enough, he felt a tad self-conscious himself when he went to deliver it all to Taylor. Waiting until she started playing another song, he slipped across the room, trying to make it quick. He was accustomed to crowds, but it was different being in such a personal space.

Everyone was watching as he helped Taylor to wrap Rosie up in her blanket, her kitty toy clutched in her hands as soon as it was offered. She accepted her bottle eagerly, too, her eyes closing as Taylor held it to her lips. The tenderness between the three of them was obvious; if anyone there doubted their bond, it was cancelled out by their silent smiles, the gentle way Harry stroked his hand down the back of Taylor’s head without meaning to before he returned to his spot over with her parents.

The whole thing was rather remarkable to Harry. Taylor’s honesty alone was enough to floor him. While she had explained to him how the sessions worked in advance, he hadn’t been expecting her to speak so candidly to a room full of strangers.

“They’re _fans_ ,” she had corrected, when he pointed it out after the first session. “They’ve supported me through everything. I trust them.”

She would have to, to invite them into her own home and expect them not to spoil anything online. For all the things she spoke about, the stories behind the collection of tracks, what it was like to have a baby and be in love, knowing that an awful part of the public were going to criticise her for it, hardly any of it left the room. There were unspecific mentions in some fans’ posts about their experiences, but no one blatantly betrayed Taylor’s trust. It was amazing.

The session in their permanent Nashville residence, the one they had left for last, held the most insight into their real lives. There was the obvious mark of their relationship, with all their photos and their shared possessions. It had a different feel to the others.

It was there that she coerced Harry into greater participation, too. While he had made the odd comment here and there when invited during the previous sessions, Taylor encouraged him into offering more.

“It’s _your_ thing, Tay; they’re not coming to hear what I have to say,” he told her, sitting in their bedroom that morning. They had a peacefully quiet moment alone, while Rosie was downstairs with her grandparents.

“No, but I think they would really enjoy it if you started crafting sonnets about how much you love me,” Taylor replied, grinning as she slipped her hand in his. The sound of his laugh had her tempted to kiss him.

“I think _you_ would enjoy it if I started doing that,” Harry countered, and she went for it, pressing her lips to his in agreement.

While he didn’t quite make it into sonnet territory, Harry ended up making more of a contribution at the last session. Perhaps it was something about being in the place he had come to call home, next to the woman he loved, but he felt a bit more comfortable opening up to strangers who, for all he knew, might not actually like him anyway.

“It was such a confusing time for me. I was nervous and excited and I knew that when everyone found out, they were going to try to tell me how I should feel,” Taylor confessed, glancing a smile at Harry when she went on, “I was really lucky to be sharing it with someone who still loved me for who I am, even when I was constantly crying over minor inconveniences.”

“She’s not wrong,” Harry shrugged, smiling as the crowd laughed. “You _were_ rather emotional.”

“I think the hardest part for me was, um, the difference between how people talked about me compared to how they talked about Taylor,” he explained, absently picking at a loose thread on the rip at the knee of his jeans. “We don’t really read that stuff, but it’s hard when people are saying horrible things about someone you care about, and you’re part of the reason why.”

Taylor glanced back at him, softening. He hadn’t said that outright to her before, and she noticed the fresh shine in his eyes. Before he became embarrassed, she joked it off with, “Now _you’re_ getting emotional,” which made him crack another grin, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.

“I can’t talk about it!”

It _was_ weird to talk about, when he was someone who preferred to keep his private life just that. He was so used to having widespread assumptions made about him, hence why in the most recent of interviews he’d done, he wanted to only talk about his career. Not telling everyone everything about his life helped to keep him sane.

Although, he had to admit, he could talk about Taylor and Rosie for hours and hours. He could very well stand up in front of the room and declare that he was completely in love with the woman beside him, but it was evident in the things he didn’t say, anyway.

It was the softness in his expression, the cheeky banter they shared. It was in, when they stood up together, the way he subconsciously rested his hand on the small of her back, as if they were alone. In how they squeezed together on the piano stool, thighs pressed against each other, unself-conscious.

Harry had tried to convince her that yes, it was great that she wanted to sing one of her songs live for her last lot of guests, but it really wasn’t necessary for him to join her. The last track, the one they had written together on that very piano, was the one she was after, and Taylor was determined to perform it the way that it had been written.

“ _Please?_ Pretty please? It might be the only time we ever get to do it together,” Taylor had begged, fluttering her eyelashes and all. Ultimately, it was pretty easy to sway him; she was very familiar with his physical weaknesses.

And so he did end up sitting next to her at that piano, all eyes on the two of them as they performed together for the very first time (well, if you excluded the odd rounds of karaoke they had taken part in over the years).

“Any wrong notes are all hers,” Harry quipped cheekily once they were settled on their stool, which had Taylor dropping her jaw at the laughter he received. She nudged him with her elbow, and he nudged her back, the pair of them like children as they giggled and pushed. The meaningful cough from Andrea nearby, little Rosie falling asleep in her arms, had the two of them composing themselves again.

The room was otherwise silent once they began, Harry’s voice complementing Taylor’s as they shared the piano fluidly. It was a gentle embodiment of the story of them, honest and sweet and sincere. At the time, they hadn’t known it was ever going to leave their living room; the first time they had played the studio version in London, Harry had actually teared up. He was so proud of Taylor, so honoured that she wanted to share her life with him, he didn’t know where to begin.

Everyone else in that room was thinking the same thing, too. And if there was one thing they could confidently take away from their special time with Taylor, who positively radiated happiness, it was that she wasn’t lying when she said she was doing better than she ever was.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“Ma! Ma!”

“I’m _Da_. Remember? You know how to say that.”

“Ma! Mama!”

Harry chuckled as Rosie beamed a gap-toothed smile, held up happily on his hip. She had been absorbing her mother’s excitement all morning, and now she could hardly sit still.

It was release day. After a night where she could hardly sleep, filled with an anxious mess of anticipation and _oh-my-god-what-if-they-hate-it_ , excitement had eventually won out. Trawling Tumblr in the early hours of the morning had found that her fans hadn’t abandoned her since she had taken a step back from the spotlight, since her reputation had been trashed by people who had never understood her. _They_ understood her, and that was what really mattered.

“This is mental,” Harry had smiled, as they laid together snugly in bed, Taylor tucked up under his arm and scrolling through the app on her phone. After midnight, _Reputation_ hadn’t been out for even half an hour and the all-caps posts that flooded her dashboard only seemed to multiply by the minute. “They can’t have even listened to the full thing yet.”

“That doesn’t mean they can’t talk about the songs they have,” Taylor pointed out, a permanent smile fixed on her face with the more she read. Positive! It was practically all positive! “I’m sure your fans did exactly the same thing for your album.”

“I wasn’t _seeing_ any of it,” he said, marvelling over the reactions to the songs he had known for a long time, a few that had been vaulted two years ago, waiting for this moment. God, he was so proud of her.

“Just wait ‘til they get to our songs.”

Their choice of celebration was so ridiculously casual it was almost unbelievable. Almost, except that it was so naturally _them_ to be, instead of heading out with friends, chilling in their PJ’s drinking wine and eating chocolate brownies on the night that her record was released. “We’re very boring people,” Taylor had laughed at one of the Secret Sessions (“Speak for yourself!” he had piped up, earning a laugh from the room), and maybe that was so, but there was nowhere else she would’ve rather have been the moment that the world finally got to hear her voice again.

“Ooh, I got a crumb,” Taylor had said, on her last bite of brownie. They had baked them in the afternoon, which had been a great way to pass the time without dwelling on pre-release jitters, though not quite as enjoyable as they had hoped for. Rosie was watched enough to ensure she didn’t fall from her perch on the counter, but not enough to stop her from sneaking some of the batter left in the bowl. Her hands and face ended up sticky, as had the floor, when while they were waiting for the batch to bake, she hurled her illicit treat all over the joint. Ahh, it was fun being a parent.

At least the brownies only continued to make a mess in the form of crumbs. When Taylor went to pick the one which had rolled down her top, Harry had giggled, “Let me get that,” and reached down the front of her top first. Safe to say, his wandering hand led to more fun that hers surely would’ve.

In the morning, his appreciation for her came in unleashing freshly-changed and fully awake Rosie on her for cuddles while he made them breakfast in bed. He surprised her with a bouquet of flowers too, a beautiful bunch of roses he had hidden the day before and kept fresh in a crystal vase.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” she sighed, delighted by the sight. “They’re perfect, thank you so much.”

The long-sleeved top they had gotten made for Rosie was perfect, too. With ‘Rep’ written on the front in her title font, Rosie was a smiling mini advertisement for her mom. A ruffled skirt, plain leggings to keep warm, and sparkly shoes topped off her look as she and Harry accompanied Taylor on her tradition to buy a copy of her album for herself on the day it came out.

Their local Target wasn’t expecting to see Taylor Swift in the flesh, her fiancé, daughter, and back-up singers in tow. And while Taylor mingled and took pictures with fans who happened to be in the store at exactly the right time, Harry hung back a bit with Rosie, who had decided to let everyone know she knew how to say ‘Mama’.

“Mama! Ma!”

“Yes, that’s mummy,” Harry confirmed, as Rosie eagerly pointed at the nearby display of Taylor’s album. “Mummy looks very pretty, doesn’t she?”

“Ma!”

Jiggling her on his hip, he tried to keep her occupied while the girls chatted. He knew better than to take her to the toy aisle, since even though she was a young toddler, she was guaranteed to spot a stuffed animal she _needed_ , and she already quite had enough.

Rosie got to hold on to a copy of the album, one of the deluxe editions, a role she took on with great interest. Clutching it in her little hands, she quietened down as she studied it thoroughly, taking in the glammed up version of her mother, in print rather than real life. She pressed a hand over the picture, before deciding to hug the magazine up against her face.

“What are you doing, baby?” Taylor laughed when she came over, phone camera on, to find Rosie was hitting her forehead against the copy of her album with reasoning only another toddler could surely understand.

“Maybe she doesn’t like it,” Harry replied with a teasing smile, his laughter audible in the background as she flipped her camera around to her shocked expression. Taylor was filming snippets of their Target expedition to upload to her Instagram story later on, once they were long gone.

“Are you gonna buy a copy?” Taylor asked, swivelling so the front camera was on the two of them together, Rosie passed on to one of the girls so she was out of the frame.

“I pre-ordered it on iTunes,” he replied, going along with it for her; she seemed so happy, he couldn’t say no to her filming.

“But are you gonna buy one of these,” she said, holding up one of the magazines for illustration, “and look at all these pictures of my face.”

“I’m familiar with how your face looks,” he pointed out, trying not to laugh. He knew those pictures; he’d taken some himself.

Taylor paused for a dramatic few seconds before she deadpanned, “I’m returning my copy of your album.” The video cut off with the two of them bursting into laughter, unable to stay serious with each other.

It was only a small snapshot into their lives together, one some were guaranteed to be displeased by, but at this point, they couldn’t care less.

Harry was the one holding her hand while they walked through Target, barely seeming bothered by their accumulating stares from other shoppers. That was just how it was: they were a spectacle, regardless of where they went, but that wouldn’t stop him from holding her hand, proud to be the one she let into her life.

“Ma!” Rosie exclaimed again when they eventually made it to the checkout, the cashier looking rather stunned by the collective.

“Yeah!” Taylor grinned, as an album bleeped through the scanner. Rosie liked the scanner bleep. “C’mere, baby.”

With Rosie passed over to her, Taylor swayed her in her arms, making her give a little giggle. Taylor smacked a red lipstick kiss on her cheek, filled with a renewed warmth as Rosie leaned into her for a proper cuddle. “I love you so much,” she murmured to her, and standing there, buying her own album on the day of its release, with her lover and their daughter and her friends, Taylor realised that she had reached a point where her life felt truly complete.

“Thank you,” Taylor whispered at the end of the day, back in the cosy comfort of their bed. “I wouldn’t have done all this without you. Your support means everything to me.”

Harry smiled at her, stroking his hand gently over her hair. “I’m so proud of you, Tay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

She laughed, “Don’t even go there.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“I just don’t see how it can work.”

“You’re not seriously considering up and leaving for months.”

“ _You_ did it.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Oh, no, you’re right: she was only three months old then and I got no sleep!”

It was the same argument they had been having ever since her label had been requesting her to sign onto tour dates. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen it coming: with a new album came a new tour, but it wasn’t quite so simple to say ‘yes, sure’ to any old offer when there was a toddler to think about.

Rosie had to turn two first – that was one of her conditions. She didn’t want to leave her before then, and Harry didn’t want her to leave period.

“What if something happens to her? I could never forgive myself if I was the reason she got hurt.”

“I’d be there with her the entire time; she wouldn’t leave my sight. You’d have nothing to worry about.”

“I would still worry,” Taylor insisted adamantly. Heck, she worried about her in their own home. Rosie’s curiosity was ever growing, and as wonderful as it was to watch her learn and grow, not everything she tried was going to be for the best. Being the kind of parent who wrapped their child up in cotton wool wasn’t what Taylor wanted to be, but the last thing she wanted was to see Rosie get hurt. There was no reason to put her in any situation where it was likely if it wasn’t necessary to.

“I promise you I’d take good care of her,” Harry vowed, watching her seriously as they lingered in the music room, surrounded by guitars. They had set Rosie down for her nap earlier; they didn’t like to argue in front of her. “You know that.”

“Of course I do.” Taylor sighed, chewing on her thumbnail in apprehension. “She just – she needs stability. She’s not going to get that on tour.”

“D’you know how devastated she’ll be if you leave her behind? She missed you so much when you went to New York, and you were only gone for three days.”

“Stop trying to make me feel guilty!”

“I’m not.”

“Well you are!”

Impossible. It seemed to be impossible to get through to her, when they were both so damn stubborn, but Harry was determined to change her mind. When he had toured, things were different: Rosie was only a young baby, and maybe it hadn’t been fair to leave then, but he didn’t think it was fair for Taylor to abandon her when she was older and had a better understanding of what was happening around her. How were they supposed to explain it to her, when she was used to having both her parents around almost every day?

“Taylor, I just want what’s best for us,” Harry said evenly, trying not to let her obvious inner conflict get to him. “I don’t think going on tour without Rosie is it.”

Maybe it was easier for him to say when nobody was accusing _him_ of being a shit parent. It was the 21st-freaking-century and she was being branded as a shit parent for being a working mom. As if no one else did it successfully! And nobody had particularly made a fuss when Harry toured after Rosie was born, for that matter.

Her new album had barely taken her away from Rosie, anyway. After its release, she had opted against doing any promo, no interviews or photo shoots, which while it displeased some, it let the music do the talking and let her live her life quietly. People could say what they wanted; she was sick of her words being misconstrued for the sake of a good headline.

“I don’t know, Harry. I don’t know.” Taylor shrugged helplessly. “Maybe I won’t tour at all.”

He almost wanted to laugh. “You don’t really mean that.”

“Maybe I do, if it’s best for Rosie.”

“I _know_ you, you want to tour.”

“I _do_ ,” she groaned, putting her head in her hands, as if she hadn’t known all this was going to be hard. In a moment, she had Harry’s arms wrapping around her, holding her against him. She would be lying if she said simply being in his arms didn’t make her feel better, more grounded.

“Was all this a mistake?” Taylor murmured, dropping her hands from her face and wrapping her arms around his middle.

“No, love,” he replied gently, stroking a hand over her hair. She had showered in the morning, leaving her hair to dry in wild curls; Harry loved it. “It’s just… I think she’d love it, being on the road, doing something special, y’know? And if it doesn’t work out, I can always bring her back home.” He kissed her on the head, lips brushing against soft hair. “Just think about it, alright?”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

A trial was how it was going to work. If having Rosie around for the first few shows didn’t pan out, then she was going home, just like Harry suggested. Sure, she might be disappointed, but being a parent meant making tough decisions.

With the larger scale she aspired to work on, Taylor had organised her tour the way _she_ wanted it, settling for nothing less. She had spread out her dates, rather than playing night after night. Week’s break would give her time to rest, as well as offer her plenty of family time, where they could take Rosie to explore places she had never seen.

They weren’t sure Rosie knew what it meant by “mommy’s working”. She would’ve been too young to remember when she was there for recording, the few sessions they had taken her along to the studio when they hadn’t been able to get anyone to watch her on short notice. Of course, she had heard both of their material, and she had once been brought along to a video shoot. The clip of her bursting into tears and burrowing into Harry’s arms after seeing her mother not quite so recognisable dressed up as a zombie didn’t make it into the behind the scenes for ‘Look What You Made Me Do’.

She knew that sometimes Taylor wasn’t around during the day, but she didn’t seem too affected by it, not until a few hours turned into a full day away. Harry didn’t blame her for getting needy over that; when she was gone, he missed knowing that she was only just in another room, too.

For Taylor, she felt a new sense in reassurance whenever she came home: no matter what sort of day she had, she was coming home to love. After a tiring meeting, she could come home to a smiling toddler who thought the world of her, and a fiancé who was much the same.

After a particularly long day, all Taylor wanted was to lay down with a good drink, maybe read a book to Rosie; just relax. As soon as she was through the door, she was slipping off her shoes and pulling out her hair tie, letting her mid-length locks fall down in waves. The kitchen would be a nice first stop, reminiscent of when she lived alone and had no one save her cats to lift her spirits again, and even then, they weren’t always in the mood for a cuddle. When she came in, though, she heard a delightful shriek of “MOWW!” and she caught herself smiling already.

“Moww” had become Rosie’s favourite word. A not quite “meow”, it was how she referred to the cats, what she said while she chased them, while she patted them, when she _wanted_ to be patting them, and the odd occasions they didn’t quite understand. The mother/daughter comparisons were growing by the day.

They were playing in the living room, like usual; there was more space there than in the nursery. It took a great effort not to immediately laugh when she walked in.

Harry – oh, Harry. Nobody could accuse him of not being an involved parent.

Down on all fours, Harry was playing kitty. He had on one of her headbands, with ears made of paper taped on top. On his face, he had drawn a nose and whiskers in black. He even had a scarf tucked into the waistband of his pants as a tail. All this for a girl who wasn’t even two, who couldn’t talk enough to boss him around yet.

Rosie was definitely her daughter, alright.

When she walked in, Harry flashed her a playful grin, and Rosie’s head swivelled round to see who she was. She, too, was dressed up: in one of her cat shirts, a beanie with animal ears sewn on top, and the same drawing on her face. She looked positively adorable.

“Moww!” Rosie exclaimed, waving her arms in joy.

“You going to go to mummy, love? Like Olivia does?” Harry prompted, and when she didn’t move, he turned her toward Taylor and guided her to crawl. While Rosie didn’t rub against her legs in true cat style, she greeted her by crawling over and using her leg to help her sit up on her knees, beaming, “Moww!”

“I didn’t know I had a kitten,” Taylor laughed, reaching down to lift Rosie up. “The cutest kitten, too.”

Harry cleared his throat meaningfully, and she grinned down at him, “You’re a rather large cat, don’t you think?”

“Maybe I’m a lion.”

“You’ve lost your long mane for that.”

“A panther, then.”

Theatrically, he stalked over to them, circling slowly around on all fours as if they were his prey. Taylor kneeled down, reaching out a hand with a tentative, “Nice kitty…” In a moment, he _actually_ bit the ends of her fingers, making Rosie shriek when she let out a yelp.

“He got me! Big bad kitty got me!” Taylor cried, curling down her last two fingers as if they were missing. Rosie was smiling, the show made all the better with the both of them there. “You gonna go after him? Get revenge for me?”

Letting her down, Rosie immediately went for him. Harry growled at her and she giggled, her gorgeous laugh tinkling in the air when she reached a hand up and he snapped his teeth at her in warning. She had evidently learned a thing or two from Meredith, as she batted him against the arm with her hand, and when he leaned in close to sniff her, she slapped him across the face.

Rosie thought this was hilarious. In part, because Taylor burst into laughter in her surprise, and even Harry grinned too.

“Baby, no, we don’t hit,” Taylor scolded, though the smile was still in her voice as she brought Rosie’s hand back down. “That’s mean.”

“Meam,” Rosie repeated.

“Do I get a kiss better?” Harry asked her, and when she ignored him, Taylor leaned in to kiss his cheek instead.

“All better.”

They got a moment for a proper kiss when Rosie suddenly darted away, repeating “Moww!” all over again once she caught sight of the real thing. Olivia came toddling over to her, rubbing her face against her appreciatively, for Rosie was _always_ happy to see her. Most of the time, she was relatively gentle, too; she was like a playmate around the same size, only without fur. Olivia was basically her best friend.

As they watched the friendly cat trying to avoid being pulled onto Rosie’s lap against her will, Harry did a rather good imitation of a purr as Taylor shuffled beside him and slipped her fingers in his hair.

“You’ve gotten into this cat thing, haven’t you?” she teased, and he smiled back at her.

“I live with you, don’t I?”

Crinkling her nose sweetly, she gave him another quick kiss. “What did you do this with?” she asked, admiring his face painting handiwork.

“Oh.” A hint of guilt entered his smile. “Your eyeliner pen.”

The closer she looked, the more she realised the finish of his whiskers did look the same as that of her winged eyeliner. Well, at least it had been put to good use while she was out.

“At least it’ll wash off easier than Sharpie,” she grinned.

“I hope so, she’s got rhyme time tomorrow.”

Regularly, they liked to take Rosie to the local library’s rhyme time session, aimed at the younger children who weren’t yet ready for story time, where she had the chance to interact with other toddlers. There was another girl often there who was a month older than her, and they had started playing together after rhymes once it turned out they both like the Very Hungry Caterpillar toy and they were made to share. Taylor had already befriended the girl’s mom, and they were planning on taking Rosie and Emily out together sometime.

“How’d today go?” Harry asked, sliding an arm comfortably around her waist.

“It was okay. I’m glad to be home.”

Harry grinned at her with his adorable kitten face, and she wondered how she had thought she could go without seeing all this for months.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Tour rehearsals encompassed draining months on end. It was all coming together: the sets, the choreography, the dancers – not without their fair share of hurdles. Taylor had caught a cold in May, of all months, and they had had to take Rosie to the hospital a week later when she had fallen really ill (some antibiotics later and she was back to her cheery self in a matter of days). There had been the odd incident with a few of the dancers, though by July it was Taylor who was unfortunately the most recently injured one.

She would be fine before their opening night in early August, but as she iced a sprained ankle while she watched the rest of the day’s rehearsal, she was frustrated with herself. Dancing in heels was no easy feat, though; she was surprised she had gone this long without seriously injuring herself.

Having an eager toddler bound towards her when she hobbled through the door later wasn’t the most appropriate greeting, either. Rosie looked like she was going to trip over her own feet as she rushed up to say hello, and if she actually did, mommy wasn’t going to be able to swoop to the rescue quite so quickly.

Or _mummy_ , she should say. The most startling thing, the one that made her realise just how many hours she spent away these days, was how Rosie was adopting Harry’s way of speech. Her vocabulary wasn’t very wide, but she was smart, picking up more and more words here and there, and with all the time she spent with Harry, a lot were coming from him.

“Mummy! Mummy!” Rosie said excitedly, throwing up her arms to be picked up. With all her weight balanced on her good ankle, Taylor scooped her up as easily as ever, giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek.

“How’s my favourite girl? You’ve had a nice day?”

Rosie nodded definitely, her blonde curls bobbling. “Ice cweam.”

Taylor pretended to look surprised, as if she hadn’t noticed her face was sticky. “Daddy got you ice cream? Lucky girl! Is there any left for me?”

Her face crinkled as she seemed to consider it seriously. Eventually, she shook her head.

“No? You two ate it all?” Taylor gasped, and Rosie giggled cheekily. Handling a two-year-old on a sugar high while she couldn’t even walk properly was a recipe for disaster. They better not have _actually_ eaten all the ice cream, damn it.

Thankfully, her night in shining, err, Hawaiian shorts soon came to the rescue.

She hadn’t told him what happened; she didn’t like to encourage phone use during rehearsal, and besides, she knew he would’ve insisted on coming to pick her up. As much as she appreciated that kind of genuine care, she preferred he came to rehearsal when she was actually _doing_ something. When she could impress him.

Considering they saw each other practically every day and they had known each other for years, Taylor didn’t think he really still _looked_ at her, not always. He saw her in all sorts of states; he knew her body and soul intimately. Maybe he really was observant, or he simply wondered why she was still planted in the one spot by the door.

“You okay, love?” Harry asked, with a slight tilt of his head. His hair had grown out longer than before he had last had a trim, and a stray lock fell sweetly on his forehead.

“I, uhh. I kinda can’t walk,” Taylor admitted, his eyes immediately widening.

“What happened?”

“Well, you see, dancing in heels is kind of a dangerous sport.”

His brow furrowed as he approached her, fingers tenderly stroking her cheek in his concern. “Are you alright?”

“I just need to sit down.”

“Here, Rosie,” he said, taking the toddler from Taylor’s arms and setting her down on her feet. “Want to go see if there’s ice cream left for mummy?”

Eagerly accepting the task, Rosie raced off back toward the kitchen, her little feet pitter-pattering across the floorboards. Both of them smiled as they watched her go; they couldn’t believe how much she had grown so quickly.

“Is that really a good idea letting her go by herself?”

“Probably not,” Harry grinned, sliding an arm around her waist. “C’mere, love.”

He lifted her up in his arms with ease; times like these, Taylor was very thankful to have someone so willing to cater to her needs. If she was lucky, she might get pampered tonight, the bright side of a not-so-great day.

On their way to the lounge, where Taylor could chill out on the couch for a while, they were halted by a high-pitched call of, “DADDY!”. Much to her amusement, Taylor noticed the fleeting _‘what now?’_ expression that flickered on Harry’s face, from where he spent all day every day running after a curious toddler who was unaware of her own limitations. Taylor made it harder for him to answer right away as she kissed him on the cheek thankfully; she couldn’t do any of this without him.

“DADDY! _HELP!_ ” Rosie yelled impatiently.

“Coming, Rosie!” Harry called back, not going after her until he had set Taylor safely down on the sofa and given her a proper welcome home kiss. That was another thing she was thankful for: having someone who was always happy to see her and never stopped showing it.

As Taylor got comfy, she heard Harry’s “What on _earth_ are you doing?” when he hurried back into the kitchen, and could clearly picture the completely innocent look on Rosie’s face as she was caught mid-act. Rosie’s simple explanation of “Ice cweam” was audible, too, and as Taylor snuggled into the pillows, she was _very_ glad to be home.

After pulling Rosie away from her fantastic idea to try to climb up onto the kitchen bench by using the drawer handles as steps, Harry got another bowl of ice cream sorted, letting Rosie put the sprinkles on herself. Rainbow sprinkles went _everywhere_ , but Rosie was thrilled to present her creation to her mom.

“Did you decorate this all by yourself?” Taylor gasped, and Rosie nodded proudly at her ability to cover the entire surface of the two scoops of chocolate chip with 100’s & 1000’s. “It’s so pretty, baby, thank you.”

Taylor got welcoming cuddles from Rosie (though in part because she wanted more ice cream and had already figured out how to get what she wanted), while Harry fussed with her ankle, checking out the amount of swelling (not too bad) and getting it propped up under a couple cushions. She wasn’t completely convinced he knew what he was looking for, but she couldn’t complain when his hand ran over her calf, easing some strain from all the recent rehearsals she had _actually_ participated in.

There was no need for her to do a thing, what with Harry more than willing to make dinner and clear up afterwards; he often did, particularly since she had started working again. She thought taking responsibility helped him to feel more grounded, and honestly, she loved it. Her initial doubts had been proven wrong by far; Harry was a wonderful father and partner, and had made it abundantly clear that he was committed to their family. It still gave her that little thrill, that _she_ was the one he had chosen, the one he found the greatest happiness in.

He ran her a bath later, the last of her stresses eliminated after a few hours spent with the two she loved most. A hot bath, with vanilla scented candles and a glass of wine, was a perfect end to a long day… and she didn’t seem to be the only one who thought so.

“Me bath,” Rosie insisted, having never gotten over her love of getting wet. It was nearing her bedtime, though, and they had been trying to get her settled, not involving excitable splashing.

“You’re meant to be picking a story,” Harry reminded her, nodding toward the bookshelf behind her. Running Taylor a bath before Rosie went to bed was beginning to sound like a bad idea.

“Me bath time,” she repeated, not bothering to turn around.

“You had one yesterday.”

“Want bath _now_.”

Arguing with a two-year-old never went very far. Rosie wasn’t one to give in easily, and as admirable as it was to see her developing debating skills, it wasn’t so enjoyable having to explain why she couldn’t do what she wanted, when she wanted.

Harry tried to distract her with her nightlight, a baby unicorn that glowed a soft white when she couldn’t sleep, but Rosie wasn’t particularly interested in playing with it for the moment. She sat with him reluctantly, until she had a window of opportunity; then she was off.

In hindsight, turning his back on her, even for a moment, to try to find a book she would be interested in, was never going to be a wise move. Rosie was out the nursery door before he had even pulled ‘That’s Not My Kitten’ off of the shelf.

Of course, she had darted into their bedroom and was trying to open the ensuite door. Standing on her tip toes, Rosie ignored his emphasis of “Rosie, _no_ ” and wailed when he swept her up into his arms with ease.

“It’s mummy’s bath time,” he told her _again_ , as he threw her over his shoulder.

“Me bath!” Rosie shrieked, pounding little fists against his back. “Me bath me bath me bath!”

“You’re not having a bath with mummy, it’s her bath.”

“ME BATH WIV MUMMY!”

The exchange disturbed Taylor’s newfound peace, and even so, she found herself smiling behind the closed door. She hadn’t even been in for very long, and she could hear the tiredness lacing Rosie’s tone. Rosie really could do with her bed, but he was sincerely going to have trouble getting her there when she had already decided what she wanted.

“MUMMY! MUUUUUUMMYYYYYYYY!”

“You want to come in, baby?” Taylor called out, accepting the inevitable, before Harry could carry her too far away.

“ME BATH!”

A moment later, the door opened, and Harry popped his head through, keeping a firm hold on their squirming daughter. “Are you sure?” he mouthed at her, and she smiled softly, nodding. At least he thought to ask, instead of always just thrusting Rosie upon her when she got difficult.

“Why don’t you go get your bath toys, Rosie?” Taylor suggested, trying not to laugh as Rosie started flailing her legs, skirt flying up to show off the white of her nappy, in an obvious effort to get down from her perch on her father’s shoulder. Once, when they were mucking around like that, Rosie had accidentally kneed him in the face, and he had awkwardly had to explain at dinner with some friends the next night that his split lip was actually curtesy of an overexcited two-year-old. At least they’d managed to avoid being photographed, unlike a few of the other times they had been out together.

It was generally easy to handle; being noticed in public was something they were both accustomed to, after all. For the most part, their privacy was respected when they were out as a family: they could take Rosie to the supermarket or the library or the park without there being a fuss. Other times, though, they weren’t quite so lucky.

The videos of them from when they had gone to one of Ed’s shows last October had been shared thousands of times over. In all fairness, Taylor couldn’t really blame anyone for mocking her dance moves – but hello, was she really _not_ going to dance at one of her best friend’s concerts?!

They had gone with a group in the hopes of blending in, but they hadn’t managed to get away with going undetected. Even in their casual skinny jeans and t-shirts, they were conspicuous, though that was in part their own doing: the ones who danced always seemed to get noticed. Their friends were even laughing at them when they not completely ironically started slow dancing to ‘Thinking Out Loud’.

“Should’ve worn taller shoes,” Harry had grinned, having to look up at her in her lace up heels. As she smiled back at him beautifully, her hand in his and her other on his shoulder, he hadn’t minded one bit.

Twirling her around, he had made her giggle, and sung along and kissed her during ‘Perfect’. It was all terribly cheesy, and everyone knew it, yet neither of them gave a toss. Given that most of their nights consisted of staying at home, watching over a young child, they figured they had earned the right to be That Loved Up Couple.

Romance was still there, only blended in with the casualness of everyday. Their evenings were mostly theirs alone, where they could snuggle up together with glasses of good wine and the chocolate they kept out of Rosie’s sight. If they were lucky, they could get away with some _special_ fun, without Rosie interrupting by waking up needing to be tucked in again.

Every night, Harry gave her a proper kiss, not just a quick peck goodnight; he wasn’t satisfied unless he’d done it right. No matter how difficult a day she had, it was comforting to know that every night she was going to get that kiss; she missed it whenever they were apart.

She watched him sometimes, when she couldn’t fall asleep. In rest, he looked so gentle, features softened and hair flopping over his forehead. He showed his youthfulness; perhaps it was her maternal instinct that made her stroke his hair and kiss his forehead, check that he had enough blanket (she stole it from him during the night sometimes and would wake up with him pressed right up against her for warmth, which she didn’t exactly object to). He seemed to sleep better with her at his side. And they both would tonight, after their respective days.

Harry hadn’t quite yet finished child wrangling. Getting Rosie to go to the bathroom first before hopping in the bath when she didn’t want to wasn’t easy, but he refused to let Taylor’s bath be ruined by any unexpected surprises of that particular nature. Then, with a little help, Rosie wriggled out of her clothes and went running naked to their ensuite, her blonde curls bobbing wildly and her yellow rubber ducky clutched in her hand. In a strange sort of way, Harry could see himself in that, and he didn’t even try to fight his smile.

Bringing along a ball and a mini boat, as well as her hooded towel, Harry followed after her to find Rosie already trying to climb into the bath. Taylor was helping her in, after having let out some of the water so it wasn’t too full for her. She didn't mind about showing herself to her young daughter, who she wanted to love the skin she was in.

“Be careful of mummy’s foot, alright?” he reminded her, but Rosie was already too occupied with splashing water all over herself. Taylor smiled up at him, though, letting him know that they would be okay.

As he kneeled down beside them, he dropped the toys in the tub, lowering his voice as he leaned more toward Taylor, his eyes roaming over her exposed top half. While she didn’t think pregnancy had done her appearance many favours, he was just as crazy about her body as ever. “Do I get a turn later?”

Instantly, she matched his subdued smirk, tilting her head to him. “I think we can figure out something,” she murmured, and as they met in a short kiss, both were surprised to hear a very clear, “No daddy,” come from beside them.

Giggling as she broke away, Taylor glanced back at their daughter, who was happily bouncing her rubber duck along the water’s surface as if she hadn’t just told anyone to go away. “No, there’s no room for daddy,” she agreed. “Just us girls.”

Rosie thrust her duck into the air with a splash. “Ducky!”

“Us and ducky,” Taylor corrected with a nod, poking the tip of the rubber duck’s bill with her finger and doing the same to Rosie’s nose. It made her flash a dimpled grin, reaching up a hand to do the same back to hers, which she found hilarious as Taylor gave an exaggerated wrinkle of her nose.

“I’ll leave you ladies to it,” Harry smiled at them charmingly, getting out before he ended up being the one getting their nose squeezed instead of only poked (he knew from experience that it freaking hurt when the squeezer didn’t understand the concept of how much force they were using).

And while he missed out on being poked and pinched, he also missed out on the fun of bath time with Rosie. Their little girl loved splashing around and making ducky swim all over the tub, giggling over the quacking sounds Taylor made. She adored the bubbles, scooping handfuls and smashing them together, and especially loved when Taylor blew some off her fingers and they floated in the air between them.

Sure, it wasn’t the most relaxing bath she had ever had, but when Rosie threw herself at her for a slippery cuddle, Taylor couldn’t think of a better place to come home to.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

As always, the beginning of tour snuck up on them quickly. Weeks of rehearsals suddenly approached their conclusion, and Taylor was a bundle of excited nerves. Would it all go to plan? Would anyone actually like it?

Testing it out on friends and family who came to watch had mixed reactions: pretty much all praise, except for, uhh, one.

“What do you think? Pretty cool, huh?” Harry had said, crouched down beside Rosie on the stage one morning they had tagged along. The stage was huge, and so was the inflatable cobra that towered over all of them, especially the little two-year-old.

Rosie had stared up at it for a long few moments, her kitty toy tucked safely under her arm, until finally she came to the decision that no, the giant snake was not cool, and her bottom lip jutted out and she leaned into her daddy for protection.

“ _Hey_. ‘S okay, sweetheart. It’s not real,” Harry reassured her, unable to keep the laughter from his voice as he wrapped her up in a hug. Meanwhile Taylor, who was watching the exchange, felt awful.

“I made my baby cry,” Taylor had told the behind the scenes camera when it panned over to her, her hands cupping her face in disbelief.

Aside from the whole not liking snakes thing, Rosie seemed to have fun when she came along. She loved running the length of the stage, which gave whoever was looking after her (generally Harry) a workout, since she never listened to the ‘no going near the edges’ rule, no matter who told her or how forcefully. But hey, that was toddlers for you!

Then she had Harry, who offered the perfect balance of support and feedback. Musically, he knew what he was talking about, and he wasn’t afraid to speak up with any ideas he thought up, wasn’t offended if they weren’t taken on board either. He always made sure she knew what parts he loved, too. Not always in words: his eyes said everything about what he thought of her in all her sparkly leotards. Leaving her guessing wasn’t something he liked to do anymore.

Which, in part, had inspired his own little side project. In between rehearsing, slipping out of Taylor’s sight, Harry had arranged with Austin, armed with a video camera, to sneakily speak to everyone involved on their own, asking a few questions about the tour and having a bit of a chat. It was all to be collated so that, after their very last rehearsal before the tour officially started, Taylor would have the encouragement and reassurance she needed to know that everyone else was in this and just as excited as she was. Yeah, it was kind of cheesy, but Harry knew firsthand how much Taylor had doubted making this album, doing this tour. She deserved to know that she had made the right decision in trusting her heart.

“I’m so proud of her,” Harry had declared with a lovely smile during his turn in front of the camera. “She’s put everything into this and it’s – it’s fucking amazing.”

“What are you most excited for?” Austin asked, and the left corner of his lips curved automatically.

“Umm… just seeing her up there, doing what she loves.”

“Is that why you’ve got that look on your face?”

Harry’s smirk turned into a laugh. “I thought I should say something a bit more meaningful than she looks fucking fit in her outfits.”

“Now you’ve said both.”

“I’ve said both,” Harry grinned cheekily.

At least he didn’t go into detail (on film, anyway), and she got some other perspectives, too. He couldn’t wait for her to see it.

Especially Rosie’s part. She had been shy being sat in front of the camera on her own, but Harry had been right there beside Austin, encouraging her on.

“Are you excited to see your mom on stage?” he asked, and Rosie looked over at Harry, copying his enthusiastic nod. “What’s your favourite song?”

That one stumped her. Hesitating longer, she didn’t understand what Harry was attempting to mouth at her; it took him popping over to whisper it in her ear. Still, all she said was “Shake”, but that was enough.

“Did mommy teach you how to shake it off?” Austin asked, and she nodded again proudly. “Will you show me?”

With her father taking the lead behind the camera, Rosie got up as well and started copying him, not as wild as when they were at home. Her hair flip was the cutest, where she threw her head forward, wiggled a bit as she stood half bent over, before flinging back upright, her blonde curls bobbing all the way. She stuck her arms out to the sides after and grinned, as if to say, “Ta da!”

The controversial question had her smiling again.

“Whose songs do you like more, mommy’s or daddy’s?”

Rosie looked over at Harry with her dimpled smile, and she cupped her face with both hands adorably while he jokingly pointed at himself. Still looking right at him, she decided, “Mummy,” giggling as he dramatically clutched at his heart and pretended to cry.

“Do you wanna be like mommy when you grow up?”

And Rosie nodded definitely; whether she went on to follow her parents’ footsteps or found her own dream, she would share the kindness of her mother’s heart. That was what really counted.

Taylor had been doing some filming of her own, as well. In the lead up to the first show, she decided to drop some daily sneak peeks, adding snippets to her Instagram story. With her sense of humour that was no longer so publicly displayed, it helped build anticipation, though there was plenty of that going around regardless.

She gave glimpses of costumes and sets, into the culmination of the last few months’ hard work. She meant to do them on her own, though her family had ended up making a feature.

With Harry, it had started off as a joke. Taylor had ordered pieces of each of her new merch line for herself, since why promote something you wouldn’t wear yourself, and had included some extras for Harry, too. For Rosie, there were some special mini versions, so she could dress up when they went on tour, as well (though if she had it her way, she would be wearing her favourite tulle skirt every night).

They’d tried them all on when they’d arrived, and she knew she wanted to feature some in one of her sneak peeks. The unexplainable delight in seeing Harry in a shirt with her face on it had given her a ridiculous idea to include him.

“You’re kidding,” Harry laughed at her suggestion. His white t-shirt had a picture of her album cover on it, his collection of tattoos running down his left arm contrasting out the crisp new sleeve. She loved it.

“I’m serious. You look adorable,” Taylor grinned at him, emphasised when he ran his hand through his hair, dimples flashing. Stepping forward, she rested her hands on his shoulders as she gave him a kiss, and he still smiled into it.

“If you think you can convince me like that, it’s not going to–” he began mumbling against her lips, cut off wonderfully as she slid a hand up to the back of his neck and kissed him harder.

As it usually happened, Taylor managed to convince him to give it a go. “Just a test,” was the condition. They didn’t have to post anything.

On her phone out in the garden, Taylor set her front camera, lining it up to get both of them in the frame, showing off their shirts for the video. Deadpan, she said, “You look very stylish,” a moment or so after hitting record.

“Oh, god,” Harry murmured, laughing at her awful pun. A smile spread across her own face, proud of herself (yes, she had totally thought that one up in advance). It wasn’t intentional when he rubbed under his nose with his left hand, reminding everyone who watched the few second clip they actually did agree to share of the engagement band on his fourth finger.

The video that Rosie popped up in was entirely accidental. While she and Harry explored down the back of the garden in the afternoon, Taylor found a quiet spot with good lighting to film her next instalment. She didn’t get very far in her planning of what she was going to say: on her third attempt at recording (her first, she hadn’t liked her opening wording, and in the second an insensitive fly decided to start buzzing around her head), she was promptly interrupted by her excitable toddler, who had evidently forgotten her father’s instructions not to disturb Taylor while she was working.

“Mummy!” Rosie yelled, as she ran across the grass, one palm carefully upturned as she rushed over. “Mummy, look!”

Keeping the recording going, Taylor couldn’t help from smiling at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “What’ve you got there, baby?”

What she had wasn’t so delightful. Upon reaching her, Rosie thrust her hand upward, showing off the product of her garden exploration.

“It’s a snail,” Taylor taught her, keeping her tone suitable amazed for her two-year-old. She had switched her camera around, focused on Rosie’s small hand and the brown-shelled snail that had been snatched from its habitat. God knows why – she just hoped Rosie didn’t try to eat it.

“ _Snail_ ,” Rosie repeated slowly, testing out the word. Lowering her hand, she peered at it intently; it was a wonder it hadn’t curled up into its shell after being manhandled by little hands that surely weren’t careful about it.

“Where did you find him?”

Twisting back, she pointed vaguely in the direction she had come from. “There.”

“Why did you take him?”

That puzzled Rosie for a moment (if she didn’t even know why she was picking up bugs, what chance did the rest of them have in figuring it out), until she finally poked the top of its shell, giggling, “Nice.”

“He’s a nice snail?”

“Nice snail.”

“You wanna put him back, baby? His friends will be missing him.”

As Rosie turned and darted off again, Taylor noted that she didn’t actually agree to returning the snail to one of the garden beds. Instead, she yelled, “Daddy! Snail!” unwilling to part from her find so soon.

Readjusting the camera yet again, Taylor smiled at the image of herself, shaking her head. “I, uhh. I don’t remember what I was going to say,” she admitted, improvising, “There’s not going to be snails on tour. We’re not – we’re not gonna be doing that.”

And maybe she really should’ve started over, refreshed herself and done a serious take, but she liked how genuine it was. Her life wasn’t the same as it was the last time she had toured an album: it could never be predictable with a toddler around. Why should she omit how things had changed? Taylor was damn proud to be the mother of such a radiant little girl. While she wasn’t comfortable showing her off to the world, she wasn’t going to pretend she – or her father, for that matter – didn’t exist.

So she let people hear her daughter’s voice, see nothing but her tiny hand and the unexpected snail sitting atop, and she felt okay about it. She was still dubious about bringing Rosie along for the ride, but how horrible could it really turn out to be? Sometimes, you had to take a leap of faith – she had done that plenty since she found out Rosie was coming, and she was yet to regret a thing.

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

“ _I’m so proud of you_.”

When she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the words whispered to her again. Husky voice, full of tenderness, fingers trailing lazily over her bare back. Blissful silence in the dead of night.

“ _I didn’t know getting you there was such an achievement_ ,” she had murmured dryly, a smile breaking out across her face as his chest vibrated with quiet laughter under her cheek. He had held her closer, kissing her on the top of her head.

“ _I love you_.”

She could hear it forever. She _would_ hear it forever.

And as they had laid together in their hotel bed, sheets floating over bare skin, she felt a peaceful combination of security and freedom. A safety she hadn’t had the last time they had met up on her tour, knowing that he was here to say; no matter how far she spread her wings, he would be right there with her. No matter what happened with anyone else, she would have him.

That was something Taylor was trying to remember as the hours counted down to the very first show she had performed in years.

As apprehensive as she had been about it, she found great relief in having Rosie running around after her. In her favourite glittery tulle skirt and sneakers that lit up with her every step, Rosie was as excited as anyone else, purer without any need for nerves. Her presence actually offered everyone something lighter to think about; she brought smiles whenever she toddled about.

“What do you think you’re doing, missy?” Taylor asked her playfully when she caught her crawling under the piano during soundcheck. Rosie giggled, glancing back over her shoulder to check that no one else had spotted her. “Are you hiding?”

The one she was hiding from knew exactly where she was: Harry snuck around the other end of the piano while she was conveniently distracted, where he crouched down and scared her with a yell. Rosie shrieked, hurriedly beginning to crawl in the opposite direction, and Taylor could only shake her head as Harry crawled under the piano after her.

She was thankful that he was there and that he got along so well with Rosie, like a big kid himself, but when they were mucking around together, it could get a little, well, much.

“Get off my piano!” Taylor ended up having to scold him, once Rosie again sought cover under the sparkly shelter and, instead of repeating his last trick, Harry tried to catch her from above. Freezing, in his black tailored pants and Gucci button down patterned with snakes as a show of solidarity (at least he was keeping his shoes off the pristine surface), Harry looked back over his shoulder, dipping his chin as his pose shifted to one of seduction, splayed out on top of the piano as if this were the set of a musical porno. She could picture him like that with less clothes on, and even weirder still, she could be into it.

Her fiancé was ridiculous, and she loved him even more for it.

“C’mon, Ro, mummy wants to practice,” Harry said to Rosie, once he wormed his way to the end of the piano, dangling over the keys to look at her from upside down. Rosie seemed to find this funny, as she crawled over and cupped his face, giggling.

“If we don’t move, mummy’s going to be mad,” he added.

“No mad,” Rosie smiled, her little hands still squishing his face.

“She won’t be mad at _you_ , she’ll be mad at _me_. I’ll get a smack on the bum.”

“In your dreams,” Taylor snorted, before ducking down to reach a hand out to Rosie. “C’mon, sweetie. You can practice with me.”

Rosie enjoyed being at Taylor’s side, getting to hold one of the many microphones and strut down the catwalk, looking the spit of her mother. She held her hand, and sat in her lap while she got her hair and make-up done later on, wanting a turn too.

“You don’t need it, baby. You’re beautiful just the way you are,” Taylor assured her with a kiss on her forehead, cuddling her closer. The familiar warmth of her small body was a comfort she needed as showtime grew closer and the butterflies began to make themselves known.

“You do it,” Rosie rightly pointed out.

“I have to, I’m going on stage.”

“Me go.”

The concept of _not_ following Taylor around for the rest of the evening wasn’t one Rosie really got: she had been allowed on stage before, so why not now? She wanted to be up dancing with mummy in their sparkly outfits, not stuck watching with everyone else!

“I need you to stay with daddy, okay?” Taylor told her firmly but kindly, trying to nip any oncoming tantrum in the bud. They had set Rosie down for a nap later in the day than usual, hoping that it would help keep her vibrant for the whole show, but even with that sleep, Taylor could tell Rosie might just burst into tears over not getting her way if they let her prolong their goodbye any further.

As she stroked her soft curly hair, she leaned in conspiratorially to say, “Daddy’s gonna be really sad if you’re not there to dance with him. You wanna dance with daddy? Like at home?” Rosie’s wide-eyed reluctance to agree had her adding, “I promise I’ll give you a big wave from the stage. I’ll see you: I’ll give you waves and kisses. It’ll be so much fun – won’t it, Austin? Tell her how fun it’ll be.”

“The _best_ fun,” Austin easily swept in, stepping over to scoop Rosie up, quick to start chatting to her before she realised what was happening. Passing her over to her brother, Taylor sought a speedy distraction she was (mostly) sure would work. It gave her a chance to have a brief moment with Harry, too.

“Take care of her,” she said quietly, as they stopped aside for as much privacy they were going to get in a bustling backstage area. Harry smiled at her gently, resting his hands on her waist.

“Always.”

As he pulled her in closer, she wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, breathing in the subtle vanilla scent of his cologne. He didn’t need to tell her anything now – he had for weeks, months, years – yet he was always going to. Taylor loved him for it.

“You’re going to be amazing out there, darling. You’ve got this.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

Harry kissed her before she could argue, and she melted into it, finding strength in the press of his lips, sweet and sure. It wasn’t a strength she needed – she was more than qualified to take the stage without the assurance of any man – but one she found quiet comfort in. He believed in her, and that would always matter.

When he eventually did break away, he inspected the state of her wine red lips, pleased to say, “I haven’t fucked your lipstick.”

“Not yet anyway,” Taylor replied in a low tone, smirking a little.

Their next kiss was separated by the sound of her mom’s voice nearby, shepherding the group of them on; they needed to be getting out there, if they wanted to find their spot in time for Taylor’s opening. The four of them – both her parents, her brother, and Harry – were seasoned concert-goers, but they hadn’t a clue how Rosie was going to react, going from seeing her practice at home to watching the real deal.

From kissing Taylor on the cheek for good luck and not really wanting to leave her side, Rosie didn’t know how to reconcile the empty stadium she had played around in earlier in the day with the full one they stepped out into now. Loud and lights bright, excitement buzzed from body to body; Rosie was in awe, her head swivelling from side to side as she took it all in, still held in her uncle’s arms.

“There’s lots of people, isn’t there?” Harry commented as he walked along beside Austin, amused by her confusion.

“Why?”

“They’ve come to hear mummy sing.”

“Mummy sing to _me_.”

The guys shared a smile, the way any of them always did whenever Rosie came out with something adorable.

“Mummy’s going to sing for _everyone_. D’you want to come up on my shoulders, love, so you can see?”

Austin handing her over, Harry hoisted Rosie up to sit on his shoulders, where she happily bobbed above everyone else. On her new perch, held safely with Harry’s hands around her ankles, Rosie got a better view of the sea of fans all around her – and they could see her, too.

There wasn’t a huge amount of people who noticed the group making their way to their own spot on the floor, looked after by security. But it wasn’t exactly normal to see anyone carrying a child on their shoulders at a concert, nor was it to see Harry Styles openly at a Taylor Swift concert, and especially not with their two-year-old daughter Rosalie.

They’d barely made it to their allocated spot when the last song on the pre-show playlist began, which had eyes turning to Harry, friends turning to each other in the crowd, because Taylor really had done _that_. “’S not necessary,” he had tried to tell her, but apparently the last song she wanted to play before she took to the stage to hype her and everyone else up was ‘Only Angel’, and she refused to let anyone talk her out of it, especially him.

“I wanna hear my baby calling me an angel,” Taylor had declared, upon showing him the finalised playlist. “I want entire stadiums to hear my baby calling me an angel.”

Backstage, in her first sparkly leotard of the night, the sound of Harry’s voice pulsing through the speaks and the encouragements of her family and friends on a loop in her mind, Taylor felt a little sexy, a bit nervous, definitely excited, and, well… Ready For It.

While she still didn’t particularly like all the snake motifs (they weren’t so bad from a distance), Rosie had a blast. With her own special set of headphones (which only Andrea had been successful in getting her to wear, since granny never made her do anything bad), protecting her little ears, she got a great view of the enormous screens from atop Harry’s shoulders. She yelled and waved her arms, and yanked at Harry’s hair until he let her down during ‘Shake It Off’ so she could dance properly.

There was something about a good drum beat that always got little kids going, and Rosie was no different. She bounced and twirled and wiggled her arms, her light up shoes blinking incessantly as she jumped around. They were all laughing at her – including the fans in the surrounding blocks whose attention they had drawn – and it was a damn good thing Taylor couldn’t see them from the stage she was on, since she would’ve lost it seeing Harry get down on his knees to serenade her as she let loose. God, she was so like her mother.

All the photos snapped of them were low quality, hard to catch clear with all the flashing lights. Harry barely noticed them being taken, not like usual, too enraptured by his love owning it on stage, just like he always knew she would. (He also had to reserve part of his attention for Rosie, so she wouldn’t fall when propped back up on his shoulders, or try to ditch her headphones or her VIP lanyard, or start screaming if she needed anything).

He only stopped for a few lucky fans when they made their swift escape after the very last song and the lights came back on, stray pieces of confetti still falling to the ground. Rosie was determined to catch some, and delighted the girls they paused for when she pointed back at the empty stage and cried, “My mummy!”

“They already know that, sweetheart,” Harry chuckled, the girls starry eyed.

“Where mummy?”

“We’re gonna go find her now. We’ve got flowers for her, we’ve got to get first; you’re going to give them to her, okay?”

Rosie was more interested in getting back to Taylor than anything else, especially since Austin picked up a piece of confetti for her to keep, yet she still sweetly waved goodbye to the fans they’d met; Harry promised to pass on a message for them. They stopped off to see one of the stadium staff members with whom Harry had arranged earlier to accept a flower delivery and keep it safely out of Taylor’s sight until after the show.

The vibrant arrangement of bright yellow and red roses, softened with pastel purple, was suitably extravagant for its deserving recipient – and much too big for a toddler to carry. Set down to walk close by Harry’s side, Rosie looked like a bouquet with legs, the majority of her masked behind blooms; she only avoided walking into anything thanks to Harry’s guiding hand on her back, making sure she stayed in line as she proudly clutched it with all her strength, refusing any help.

The downside to Rosie’s restricted view was she missed the enchanted look on Taylor’s face when they finally met up with her again backstage. Still in her last sequin dress, sparkly and exuberant in her post-show high, she was gorgeous as she cupped her face in her genuine surprise, bouncing on the spot.

“Rosie!”

“Mummy!”

It almost ended with disaster when Rosie broke free, running towards her mother’s voice even though she couldn’t see where she was going. Taylor was quick to swoop in, rushing over and dropping to her knees, catching Rosie and the bouquet before either of them could hit the ground.

“My baby!

“Mummy! Mummy!”

The flowers got a bit crushed as Rosie threw herself at her; Taylor juggled clutching her with one arm and the bouquet wrap in her other hand. Rosie wrapped her arms around her neck, standing on her tiptoes to reach, and Taylor buried her face in her platinum curls, identical to her own when she was her age. Mother and daughter – their bond was so pure and unconditional. There was no one else Taylor would rather embrace right after an electric two hours plus on stage.

“What did you think of the show, sweetie? Did you have fun?”

Rosie nodded profusely. “You– you big!”

“Yeah! I’m big on the screens so everyone can see me,” Taylor explained with a grin. “I saw _you_. Did you see me wave?”

“Me wave! Me wave _lots!_ ”

“Did you dance with daddy?”

“Yes!”

“That’s my girl.”

Smoothing Rosie’s hair, Taylor kissed her a few times on both cheeks, making her giggle. Rosie was reluctant to let go, and lingered close by when they eventually extracted themselves, ensuring that she wasn’t about to disappear again.

Waiting patiently for his turn was Harry (he’d snapped a few photos of the two of them on his phone, was sure she would adore them later); Taylor’s loving smile melted him as she clutched the bouquet against her chest. “They’re so beautiful, baby, thank you,” she said delightedly, before taking the few steps over to lock him in a tight hug of his own.

“You were unbelievable up there,” Harry complimented softer in her ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything, I couldn’t have done all this without you.”

“Yes you bloody well could’ve.”

They both laughed at that, Taylor squeezing him tighter. And maybe he was right: she could’ve found the strength to do all this on her own. Even when it felt like she didn’t, she knew she had it in her. She just didn’t want to do it alone anymore. She needed her lover, who could make anything feel just that bit better with one of his soft smiles, and her daughter, who looked at her as if everything she did was magic. And the rest of her family, who had supported her unconditionally long before she was filling stadiums. They were what mattered most.

There was no one else she would rather sparkle every night with.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Touring with a two-year-old was certainly interesting.

After every show, Rosie successfully fell asleep before they made it back to their hotel. All her hyped up energy suddenly depleted once all the action was over; while they hung around backstage as Taylor met a lucky selection of fans, she crashed every time, needing to be carried out to the car. She slept a lot through their travels through America, which came as a relief.

They took her out to explore where they could, ensuring she saw more than just the insides of hotels in the cities they stopped at. Her favourite stop so far was Los Angeles, where they had by some miracle been able to take her to a quieter beach for an afternoon without tipping off any paps. Rosie had gotten to build a sandcastle, complete with a moat, and splash around by the shore in her rainbow swimsuit, having to be dragged away kicking and complaining when it was finally time to go. She kept asking to go back, even as they moved back inland; hotel pools just weren’t the same experience as the proper family day out.

It wasn’t always such an adventure for her, though. Harry and Austin both had habits of stirring her up now and then, mostly since she was adorable when she was stubborn in her retaliations.

“Come on, munchkin,” Austin had said to her once backstage, and she had refused to take his hand at the unfamiliar pet name.

“What mushkin?”

“You are.”

His childish reply had her eyes widening in horror, squealing, “NO MUSHKIN!”

It was all in good nature; only a few times was Taylor bothered by it when she overheard, having to tell them to leave her alone. Perhaps she was being a bit sensitive sometimes, but Taylor was fiercely protective of her daughter, more so now.

Taylor often sheltered Rosie when they went out, lest anyone try to take any photographs of her and try to sell them on. And god forbid anyone try – Taylor had unknowingly perfected a warning stare for anyone who gawked at them for too long, not unlike the look Harry had become known for when he spotted someone pointing a camera at him when he was just trying to do something normal. It was something Harry teased her about now and then, since it was so contradicting to her otherwise kind demeanour – but, as she pointed out, there was a very good reason why in the wild mothers weren’t messed with when they were with their babies.

They did manage to arrange some breaks, too. Once a week, Rosie got to spend time with just her grandparents, giving Taylor and Harry a chance to have date nights like normal couples. Low-key dinners were their go-to; even having their hotel room to themselves for a few peaceful hours was enough to keep things healthy. It was hard to get romantic when they had a toddler who, unsettled from all the unfamiliar places, kept wanting their cot put in mommy and daddy’s room.

“We’re having less sex now we’re on tour, ‘s not supposed to work like that.”

“Look at the bright side: we’re doing better than we were when she was born.”

Though Harry had chuckled, Taylor was aware it wasn’t exactly a fantastic consolation. But what could they do? It was hardly a turn on listening to your baby wailing in the background because you refused to let them into your room. They took advantage of what windows of opportunity they could when she was asleep (though never in the same room) and when they weren’t looking after her.

Having Rosie around brought on plenty of adorable moments, as well, a constant light for all the crew involved. Her light up shoes and glittery outfits were tour staples, and she was often found trying to show the dancers her selection of toys they had brought along with them.

“Do you know what it says?” Taylor had asked her when readjusting her lanyard backstage before the Seattle show. The lanyard with her backstage pass on it was more of a formality – who would take one look at her and believe her mass of curly hair and bright blue eyes _wasn’t_ thanks to the very star of the show?

Rosie had held her pass, inspecting it from upside down. She couldn’t read, yet she still answered, “My name.”

“It _does!_ ”

Smiling, she lifted it up to show her. “Says Wosie.”

That was one of the things they _hadn’t_ considered when naming their daughter Rosalie: she wasn’t actually going to be able to pronounce it properly until she was older. It only seemed to make it sweeter.

What wasn’t so sweet? The first disaster they had on their next stop in Denver.

It could’ve been worse – no one was sick or injured, but that didn’t matter to poor Rosie’s broken heart.

Somewhere between arriving at the stadium for soundcheck and less than half an hour before Taylor was set to take the stage, Rosie had misplaced the giraffe toy she had brought along to play with (and show anyone who would listen). The simple question of “Daddy? Where’s Waffie?” sent everything crumbling down.

It was chaotic, the amount of people they rounded up to look for this one stuffed giraffe. All available eyes were on the lookout, searching in any place Rosie might have left it and places she couldn’t have, just in case. Every minute she went without her giraffe, now that she realised she didn’t have it, Rosie grew more and more upset.

“Did she have it at soundcheck?” Taylor asked once they had checked the obvious spots backstage twice. There was no use in asking Rosie: when they first tried asking where she last had it, her face had crumpled and she’d wailed, “Don’t know!” She was still snivelling, snuggled up in Taylor’s arms.

“I think so.” Harry scratched the back of his neck, frowning. Did he really remember seeing her with it, or was he just thinking he did because she _should’ve_ had it? He felt awful for not paying closer attention. “Maybe she left it out there?”

“I think someone would’ve noticed a bright yellow giraffe toy on stage. – Shh, baby,” she cooed, when Rosie whined “ _Waffieeee_ ” over her shoulder. “We’ll find Raffie, it’s okay.”

At least, they damn well hoped they would find it.

“It could be in one of the front blocks,” Harry guessed unfortunately. “We were playing around there earlier. I could run out and have a look–”

“No. No, you can’t just go out there, you know that.”

“But–”

“No buts. I’m not having you risk your own safety by running around out there by yourself. Security can look, not you.”

It was a perfectly logical argument, yet Harry still bristled at not being allowed to go help his very own child. He didn’t really care who might approach him, so long as he got to put a smile back on Rosie’s face.

He knew better than to try to make a fuss about it now, though. On the countdown to her performance, Taylor should’ve been hyped up and ready to dance her way through the next two hours, but instead the stress she was feeling was obvious. They had looked _everywhere_ they could think of backstage and still no sign of any giraffes. How could she possibly part from her anguished daughter, who was clinging onto her for comfort and getting snot on her robe, without hurting her any more?

There was a glimmer of hope when Andrea appeared from her hunt, but it was only fleeting: her hands were empty and she shook her head. “Are you nearly ready, honey?” she asked, thoughtfully not voicing her ill luck aloud for little ears to hear.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Taylor replied distantly, as she bounced Rosie in her arms, the same way she had done to comfort her ever since she was a baby.

Harry glanced at his watch. “I’ll, um, grab our stuff. Have you got your pass, Rosie?”

With her thumb wedged in her mouth, Rosie ignored him, and Taylor had to nod yes for him; she could feel the plastic pass pressing up against her shoulder.

They carried a small backpack with them when they went out onto the stadium floor to watch the show, filled with things Rosie might need in the duration: a bottle of water, a juice box in case she refused water, some snacks, tissues, Disney Princess band-aids, two dummies in case one got dropped. Sometimes she liked carrying it herself, making her feel more grown up, but mostly it was Andrea who volunteered to hold onto the essential.

Trying to get Rosie to part from her mother was expectedly difficult. Refusing to let go, she choked Taylor with her little arms clutching around her neck, crying, “NO! Me wiv mummy, me wiv mummy!”

“I’ve gotta go on stage, sweetie–”

“NO!”

In the end, they had no choice but to force her into her father’s arms, wailing all through the backstage halls. Harry had given Taylor a good luck kiss, though the mood was dampened by their screeching toddler.

By the time they made it out onto the stadium floor, Rosie had stopped crying, at least, settled with a tissue wiped under her nose and a dummy popped into her mouth. Clinging onto daddy wasn’t so bad, she remembered, but it wasn’t the same as cuddles with mummy; the primal bond she shared with her would always be different.

Rosie’s tearstained cheeks only highlighted her devastation. Once they were out in view, Harry tried to keep her sheltered, so she would feel a bit better and she wouldn’t attract so much attention. At least they didn’t have very long before the lights went out.

They all got a surprise by one of Taylor’s between-songs speeches early on in the show. With their lack of luck finding Raffie backstage and the difficulty security had in searching the floor when it was full of fans, the only other solution she could come up with was to get the word out from the unique position she was in.

“I, uh, I have a favour to ask,” Taylor began, looking out onto the crowd and hoping that Rosie was okay, that she wasn’t about to make an announcement that would get her hopes up for nothing. “My family’s on tour with me, and our little girl – her name’s Rosie – she lost one of her favourite toy earlier today, she’s had it since she was a baby. His name’s Raffie and he’s a giraffe about... _this_ big. We think maybe she lost him when she was playing around the seats here when we were doing soundcheck, so if you’ve seen him hanging around here, maybe under your seat, it would mean so much if you could hand him in to one of our amazing staff here, or you could give it to her yourself after the show, she’d love that. Give us a wave, baby, so we know where you are.”

Being singled out so importantly, Rosie actually perked up, held on Harry’s hip. She mumbled “Mummy” from behind her dummy, repeating it louder, still muffled, when Harry made her wave towards the stage. He waved, too, in part hoping that they weren’t about to receive any extra attention that didn’t involve any stuffed giraffes. That was what their security was for.

“It would really mean a lot to us if you could help us out. You’d be making a little girl really, really happy.”

The chances of it actually working out were slim, but Taylor could only hope that things were going to work out for the best. Before she had taken the stage, she had organised with security for the word to spread that it anyone _did_ come forward with the toy, they were to be brought backstage so that she could thank them personally. All she wanted was for her daughter to be happy; it was the least she could do for anyone who could help with that.

Rosie was calmer once the last bows were taken; watching her mom perform was the perfect distraction. Though she wasn’t nearly as boppy and cheerful as usual, at least she didn’t look as if she were on the verge of any more tears.

They lingered around for a few minutes, just in case anyone actually did come forward. But people were already streaming for the exits, carrying confetti instead of toys, and what could they do? They couldn’t wait forever for what was probably a lost cause.

Except, well, when they were escorted safely backstage, they were stopped on their way back to the dressing room.

“Excuse me, uhh, Mr Styles.”

The formal call from behind them took the lot of them off guard. Harry and both of Taylor’s parents turned to see who had addressed him: one of the stadium staffers who looked in her 20’s, accompanied by another girl only a couple years younger, sporting a shimmering sequin dress and most definitely not staff.

“I’ve got someone who’s here to see your daughter.”

Harry bit his tongue. Much as he was dying to, he couldn’t very well utter “holy shit” in front of Rosie, least of all with Taylor’s parents standing right there beside him. But _holy shit!_

Taking the dummy out her mouth, Harry set Rosie down on her feet. She only really paid attention once she was prodded forward to meet the stranger, who crouched down to her height, her hands behind her back.

“Hi Rosie. My name’s Savannah,” she introduced herself with a friendly smile, as Rosie glanced back over at her father for answers as to why she was getting to meet one of mummy’s friends when she was never normally allowed into meet and greets. Savannah got her complete attention, though, when she went on with, “I found something of yours.”

As soon as she revealed the toy from behind her back, Rosie’s face lit up in complete awe. “WAFFIE!”

Immediately her hands shot out for it – but she didn’t snatch, they were all pleased to see. Savannah handed the giraffe over with a bright smile, thrilled to see just how delighted Rosie was to see him again.

“I hear he was missing you too,” Savannah said, as Rosie squeezed Raffie against her chest with all her might, lest he slip away from her again.

“What do you say to Savannah, Rosie?” Harry prompted her, so she would remember her manners. “Are you going to say thank you?”

“Tank you,” Rosie quietly repeated, melting all their hearts when she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Savannah. She was as stunned as the rest of them as she returned the kind hug.

“You’re very welcome, Rosie. I’m glad I could bring him back to you.”

They all were. If no one had found him and he was well and truly lost, they were bound to have days of sulking, which would’ve made travelling with a toddler even more testing.

Harry asked to give her a hug as well, where he quietly thanked her, “You’re a lifesaver.”

“D’you want to come with us? Taylor would love to say thank you herself,” he went on to offer, and who knew a simple stuffed animal would make Savannah’s dreams come true?

As they brought her along, Harry encouraged Rosie, much too interested in hugging Raffie to hold his hand like she was meant to, to keep talking to Savannah now that her mood had skyrocketed. She began jabbering about her giraffe, not making much sense with her limited vocabulary and yet captivating all of them listening.

Rosie ran off from them (another thing she wasn’t supposed to do) as soon as she saw Taylor coming out her dressing room to meet them. Madly waving Raffie in the air, her hand not so kindly gripping around his long neck, she had her mom’s face lighting up nearly as much as hers had.

“Mummy! Look!”

“Raffie!”

“My Waffie!”

For the first time in hours, they got to hear Rosie’s giggle, as Taylor lifted her up high in the air, then settled her on her hip. Taylor kissed her twice on the cheek, giving one to the top of Raffie's head now that he was safe and sound.

“Did someone find him for you?”

“She did,” Rosie told her, pointing back to starry eyed Savannah. She wasn’t prepared for Taylor to flash her a grateful smile.

“And did you say thank you?”

Rosie’s curls bobbed wildly as she nodded definitely, and Taylor grinned at her, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

Reunited with her beloved giraffe, Rosie was feeling _much_ better, her cheerful, innocent demeanour back in full force. Again, she didn’t like being restricted from the meet and greet room, but at least she had Raffie to keep her company while mummy was busy.

Taylor made sure to let everyone know how the missing stuffed animal saga turned out: in amongst their conversation, she asked Savannah if she was okay with taking a selfie for Instagram, and who was going to say no to _that?_ She managed to coerce Rosie to give her a turn with Raffie for a minute, where they took a picture together with the giraffe between them, all excited smiles, ready to be added to her story with overenthusiastic captions later that night.

Harry took Rosie back to the dressing room like he normally did while they waited around for Taylor to go through her meet and greets. It was where she would settle down, her bouncy energy depleting in the quiet.

“That was very nice of you to give Savannah a hug earlier, sweetheart,” Harry praised her, as they got comfy on the couch together, Rosie making Raffie walk along the back of it.

“She nice to me,” Rosie said simply, hopping the giraffe closer to him, making his nose bump against the side of Harry’s head, her playfulness restored.

God, she was so like her mother.

Ruffling her messy hair, fingers sliding down the soft ends, Harry smiled at her tenderly. “That’s my girl.”

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

They were more like normal on their next few stops: there was the odd drama, but none like _I’ve lost one of my favourite toys this is the end of the world_. Just the usual two-year-old tantrums – and that they could handle.

“Me.”

“You already had yours,” Harry reminded her begging hand at soundcheck for the Washington show. He had a packet of gummy snakes in his, since gummy snakes were a pre-show necessity, obviously.

“Me,” Rosie still repeated, smiling up at him as if he were joking, her outstretched hand never faltering.

“You already ate yours. You can’t fool me, missy. You didn’t even say please.”

“Pwease?”

Pretending to mull it over, Harry tilted his head, glancing between Rosie and the packet in his hand. He _could_ just give her another, even though she actually had had her share, but where was the fun in that?

“You get as many snakes as how old you are, and since you’re two, and I’m twenty-five... looks like I get the rest.”

His logic was horrendous in any kid’s book; it had Rosie shrieking, “No!” and curling her other fist.

“Pretty sure that’s how it works,” Harry assured her nonchalantly, reaching into the bag for another snake. It was torturous as he pulled out a red one, dangling it above his mouth before taking a bite off the tail. Rosie jumped up and down in protest.

“No! Mine, daddy, _mine!_ ”

“Already in my mouth,” he muffled, dropping the rest of the snake in to further cries.

Sure, it was kind of mean to wind her up, jiggling the lolly packet out of her reach, but it was also character building. Well, probably.

Taylor wasn’t thrilled to hear the kerfuffle taking place off to the side on her stage. There was always plenty of room for them to play, on the enormous stage and the floor seats (though not all of the various stadium staff were a fan of that). Rosie _needed_ to be kept occupied, otherwise the long hours got boring fast and she’d start fussing. There was just a difference between _nice_ playing and loud whiney playing.

There was only so much “Daddy, no! NO! Pwease, daddy. _Daddy!_ ” off in the (not far enough) distance she could take before she was compelled to intervene. After all, it was all fun and games until someone started to cry.

Rosie’s foot stamping and fist clenching suddenly turned to tears, and he really did feel bad: he hadn’t meant to upset her that much. But before he had the chance to correct it, the _nice_ parent appeared.

“ _Hey_. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Taylor used her gentle tone, and Rosie immediately went for her.

“Daddy _MEAN!_ ”

Lifting her up, Taylor rubbed her back as she clung onto her for support. Mummy would never do something like that to her, after all.

“What’s daddy doing, hey? Is he not sharing?”

With the shake of Rosie’s head, Taylor flashed him an unimpressed expression.

“She’s already had hers,” Harry murmured, but he figured he was already in trouble.

At least Rosie had stopped crying now in Taylor’s arms. She still looked rather, well, pissed.

“Here, you can have mine, sweetie,” Taylor decided, taking the packet from Harry before he had any time to further try to defend himself. She offered it to Rosie, who glanced over at Harry for a long moment before defiantly shoving her hand in, grabbing as many gummy snakes as she possibly could.

“Daddy have none,” Rosie snivelled, and he almost wanted to laugh, if he didn’t think it might make matters worse.

“Has daddy had enough?” Taylor asked her, and with her expected nod, added, “I think so, too. Why don’t we go share with granny, hey?”

Scoffing the rest of them between the two of them probably would’ve been the more popular idea, judging by how Rosie bit the heads of multiple lollies at once. But sharing was caring, and if he apparently wasn’t going to teach her that, at least one of them should try.

Taylor didn’t leave without scolding him. “Don’t eat them in front of her,” she said to him, low and firm, the way that always made him feel terribly guilty. It was strange, the way he sometimes wished she would just raise her voice at him, because when she kept her cool, _then_ she was scary.

On their way past, leaving Harry like the troublesome child, Rosie flashed him a ferocious glare over Taylor’s shoulder. Wherever she had gotten _that_ from, he didn’t know, but she didn’t falter when he pouted back at her. Her small face stayed scrunched in a look that told him he was the worst dad ever.

And maybe, for those few minutes, he was, but by the end of the show, Rosie was falling asleep in the reassuring comfort of his arms, the way that she always did.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

Toronto was a fucking nightmare.

“Have you got Rosie?”

The question made Harry feel physically sick as he replayed it in his head. Those four words had ruined everything. He felt like a fucking idiot, damn it!

One minute, she was standing beside him in the halls backstage, the next, poof! He thought perhaps she had gone along with Taylor to the bathroom, but when the slow realisation spread across Taylor’s face when he asked, “Have you got Rosie?” he knew he had fucked up completely.

“You had Rosie,” Taylor replied in a measured tone, eyes scanning the child-free space around him.

“Did you take her to the bathroom?”

“Do I look like I took her to the bathroom?”

Harry winced, making it worse when he glanced over her shoulder to check that Rosie wasn’t actually toddling along behind her.

“Harry,” she said in warning, the way that always made him regret every choice he had ever made. “Are you telling me you’ve lost our daughter?”

“Umm...”

“Rosie!” Taylor immediately yelled, turning away from him before she lost it for no reason. How far could a two-year-old go? “Rosie, sweetie! We’re not playing hide and seek, it’s time to come out now!”

It turned out two-year-olds _could_ go far. Splitting up, they checked the immediate vicinity for any sign of their tot, Harry desperately hoping she would reappear before things got really bad.

No such luck.

“The two of you can’t keep an eye on a child,” Taylor accused as she stormed over to their meeting point, looking far more stressed than she had the last time she had reapproached her fiancé and her brother. Both men instantly recognised the power in her voice and stride and they wanted to get the hell out. “The two of you _lost_ a _child!_ ”

“She knows not to wander off,” Harry tried to tell her, despite knowing it was pointless. He already knew what she was going to say.

“She’s _two_. She doesn’t listen!”

“I’ve already called security–”

“You better have called security!”

“I’ll find mom and dad,” Austin quickly cut in, hurrying off before he wound up in the middle of a couple fight. He liked Harry, he really did, but no way in hell was he sticking around when he could tell his sister was a ticking time bomb.

Taylor ignored him, her eyes like steel fixed on Harry, like a cat about to pounce on its prey. Not once had she ever looked at him so venomously. All of a sudden, he felt like a terrible, horrible, horrendous parent, all from that one look.

“You’re supposed to watch her.”

“I was–”

“You weren’t! If you were, she would be here.”

“Taylor, I–”

“Don’t! Don’t you _dare_ try to defend yourself when you’ve _lost_ our daughter! You know she doesn’t listen, you know you have to watch her for _every_ second, 'cause kids just run off! They run off, they’re gone, that’s it! What the fuck, Harry, how were you paying that little attention?!”

It was a rhetorical question. He should’ve kept his damn mouth shut, and yet, like an idiot, he said, “She was right here–”

“Where is she now?!”

That was it. That was where he lost her too.

“You don’t know, you don’t _fucking_ know!” Taylor cried, somewhere between rage and the verge of tears. She was already mostly ready to go on stage, her set less than an hour away and her hair and make-up already done, costumes all in order. Gorgeous, she was, but she was terrified. He could see it pooling in her eyes that she was terrified by their daughter’s sudden disappearing act. How could they not have found her on their initial search, so soon after she wandered off, when she couldn’t possibly have gone far? It didn’t make any sense. Unless she had managed to make her break outside, and someone had _taken_ her–

They weren’t going to go there. That was an option they refused to consider.

A security guard had joined them, walkie-talkie at the ready to receive updates from the others who were searching the entire backstage area. The mistake he made was advising Taylor that it was best she didn’t go off looking again with them.

“Excuse me?” She stared at him in disbelief, not wavered by his broader size or his authority. “How is me standing here not doing anything going to find my daughter?”

“We’ve got all hands on deck, ma'am. It’s best if you can stay calm–”

“Stay calm?!” Taylor snapped incredulously, pulling her hand away when Harry reached for it. If either of these men thought they could just _calm her down_ , they had another thing coming.

It was rare that Taylor ever made a fuss before one of her shows. She was never a diva: she never treated anyone like they were beneath her. Her voice wasn’t raised, her tone never snarky. Taylor was kind and grateful for all the hard work everyone put in to make her shows happen. Nobody had a bad word to say about her.

Even when she started to get a bit, well, hysterical. But she couldn’t help it! Rosie had never done anything like this. Never, ever; she was always with someone, she knew she _always_ had to be with someone. Damn it, why didn’t she listen?!

“This is _exactly_ why I didn’t think she should come on tour,” Taylor glared at Harry, the one person who had convinced her to change her mind. “She’s too young, she doesn’t understand.”

“You can’t tell me you’d rather she were at home,” Harry retorted, growing just a tad annoyed with her tone toward him. So he’d made a mistake! He felt awful too, but they would find her. They had to.

“At least I’d know she was safe.”

Her eyes stung. Was Rosie safe? She couldn’t be, not on her own, she was only two! Not grasping right and wrong, anything could happen to her. Anything!

“Oh, god, where is she?” Taylor cupped her face, while her mother rubbed her shoulder consolingly, standing at her side in solidarity. Every passing second brought more strain on her heart; she didn’t know how much more she could stand. “What if something’s happened to her? She’s all on her own, oh, my poor baby.”

“She’s going to be fine, honey,” her mom gently reassured her, though she got the feeling her words were somewhat lost on Taylor’s scattered mine. Not that she could blame her: she would’ve been just the same. At least here, they had no shortage of help.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” Taylor choked out painfully, face crumbling as her emotions crashed overhead, drowning out rational thought. This time, when Harry reached out to her, she melted into him.

“I’ll go, I’ll find her,” Harry promised, clutching her hand, but she threw her other arm around him and refused to let him go. Enveloping her in a desperate hug, he didn’t want to go either.

And he felt his heart break a little more when she whispered in his ear, “Don’t leave me.”

There was nothing worse. Harry would come back, of course he would come right back to her, but their daughter’s disappearance had reopened a deep rooted fear that she deserved to end up alone. That everything she worked hard for, everything she ever wanted, could be snatched away in an instant. And who would she be then?

Surrounded by family and tour members they had come to call friends, it somehow only felt like the two of them. A tangle of limbs, Harry’s hand cradling the back of Taylor’s head, murmuring, “I’m so sorry, darling,” until he was even close to thinking she believed it. They heard no crackle of radios, felt no wash of relief ripple through the others, not while they were intertwined. Nothing could touch them when they had each other.

The little steps that sparkled would’ve come sooner, had their owner not decided to pick and choose which rules she followed.

_‘No talking to strangers. Never go anywhere with someone you don’t know.’_

It had taken some convincing, but one of the security team on the search had managed to convince Rosie that he wasn’t a bad guy and that he actually really did know her mommy.

“You’ve got your VIP pass on? I’ve got one, too,” he had observed, unclipping his ID and handing it over to her from the safe distance he kept, lest he spook her and she run. Rosie had taken it, crumpling the tissue he had given her before in her other hand as she looked down at the picture of the man’s face, unable to make out any of the words.

“Where my mummy?” she had asked him quietly, after a long while.

“She’s back out here. Would you like me to take you to her?” the security man replied gently, and maybe in the back of her mind, Rosie remembered another of the rules she had been told: _'The security team in these uniforms? They’re our friends. We listen to them and they always keep up safe.’_ Or maybe she was just scared she would never figure it out on her own. But Rosie trusted him, and held his hand as he took her to reunite with her parents.

As it turned out, Rosie _had_ tried to go with Taylor to the bathroom – she just hadn’t thought to tell anyone first. After all, she saw her go right that way, so how hard would it be to follow and catch up? And mummy liked taking her places, so she would _want_ her to come along, anyway.

Rosie’s journey had begun when things went horribly wrong. By the time she turned the same corner, Taylor had already taken one of the first doors to the closest bathroom, but since Rosie hadn’t _seen_ that, she just kept walking down the corridor. She kept walking, and walking, and walking...

Everything looked the same to her. Soon, she didn’t know from which way she had come, or where she had already looked, only that Taylor wasn’t _anywhere_. Anytime she passed someone who looked at her, she clutched her kitty toy closer and walked a bit faster, keeping her head up as if she wasn’t scared, like she knew where she was going, just like anyone else.

It wouldn’t have taken long at all to find her had she stayed out in the corridors. But when she had heard a group of loud voices up ahead, she spotted an escape: a door pulled ajar, one she could easily slip through and push closed without anybody noticing.

Her new hideout was an office of sorts – one that was conveniently empty. After checking out the small room (nope, her mummy wasn’t in here either!), Rosie had taken refuge under the desk, where she tucked herself up into a ball and began to cry.

_‘If you get lost, stay put. Someone will always find you.’_

The initial search had been in the obvious places: it was more likely that she would stay out in the open areas she was familiar with, after all. The security team began checking behind closed doors, even the locked ones, just in case she had managed to get trapped inside. It was a man named James who found her in the small office, one of the team who had young kids of his own and couldn’t bear to imagine the internal turmoil of one of them going missing.

As soon as the door opened, Rosie had frozen, eyes wide, thumb flying into her mouth, Kitty clutched against her chest. James had called her name, but she hadn’t responded to the unfamiliar voice. It was a damn good thing he was thorough in checking his allocated rooms, observant in the small sniffling coming from under the desk, otherwise who knows how long she would've been under there.

The gentleness in which James approached her when he discovered her hiding place made all the difference. He introduced himself, tried to coax her out on her own accord, having no intent in using force. Rosie was two, terrified and tearful; he didn’t want to make things worse.

Neither Taylor nor Harry had any idea where to begin to thank him for his kindness in bringing their daughter back.

The whole ordeal hadn’t taken nearly as long as it felt, yet the overwhelming relief they felt the moment they heard Rosie yell “MUMMY!” felt like it had been pent up for days, not minutes.

Separating instantly, Taylor cried “Rosie!” as she ran forward toward her, Rosie breaking from Security James at the same time. “Oh, my baby!”

Mother and daughter met in the middle, where Taylor fell to her knees and Rosie ran right into her open arms, her silver glittery shoes (a change from her usual light up pair) propelling her forward. Taylor’s knees ached from the impact, like the concrete floor might’ve bruised her, but she really didn’t give a shit when she had Rosie squeezed against her chest.

“Oh, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

With her face buried, Rosie shook her head to the last question, managing to explain, “Wanted _you_ , mummy.”

For a long moment, Taylor only offered comfort, cradling her daughter against her until her own pain left her, feeling Rosie begin to relax a bit more now that she was safe again.

“You should’ve _said_ something. You know you always have to ask if you want to go with one of us, so we always know where you are,” Taylor began. She guided Rosie back, making her look at her as she stood in front of her. “You _know_ that. Why didn’t you say something?”

All Rosie did was suck in her bottom lip and glance down.

“Are you listening to me, Rosalie? You can never, ever do that again. You promised me you would never go off by yourself; you’re in a lot of trouble. You should be going home right now, no more shows.”

“No!” Rosie suddenly protested, about to cry again. “No, mummy, no!”

“You broke your promise, Rosalie.”

She looked overwhelmingly guilty about it, too. Her face crumpling, Rosie started wailing, and the only comfort she received was in Taylor’s hands holding still onto her shoulders, keeping her standing still before her. While she was scolded here and there where necessary, like any child, it wasn’t that often she did anything that warranted a proper telling off. It wasn’t pleasant, but Taylor kept her voice firm, without malice. How else was Rosie meant to know that she had done wrong if everyone always treated her like a princess?

“You can stay – only if you promise not to do something like that ever again.”

“ _Pwomise!_ ”

“Who do you always have to stay with unless you ask?”

“Daddy.”

“You need to go apologise to daddy, you really upset him by running off.”

The last thing she wanted was to get in _more_ trouble, but Rosie trudged over to where the others were lingering further back, letting them have their moment. Harry took a few steps toward her as well, so she wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed by everyone who had worried over her return.

He kneeled down to her level, as well, and she pulled at his heart when she hugged her kitty toy nervously. It took her a moment to work up the courage to mumble, “Sowwy, daddy.” When he ruffled her hair affectionately, she felt a tiny bit better.

“You gave us a scare, sweetheart,” Harry told her gently.

“Wanted mummy.”

“I know, sweetheart. You just had to say.”

Rosie nodded solemnly, and Harry sat down on the floor, guiding her onto his lap for a cuddle. And as Taylor watched over at them, she regretted being so hard on him. Harry was a good father – an amazing one, actually. This album, this tour, had strengthened their father daughter bond in a way that Taylor admired immensely. There was no way that she would be able to manage all of this without him.

They cuddled for a little bit, like how they did at the end of a show when Rosie grew tired while they waited backstage. He stroked her hair, twisting a springy curl around his finger, so like with her mother.

“You know how you like to give Kitty a hug when you’re scared?” Harry began, and she looked up at him with interest, the toy in question in her lap. “I think mummy feels better like that when you hug her. D'you want to go with her and give her a cuddle? She loves hugs from you.”

She hesitated. “Mummy mad.”

“We love you, Rosie, that’s why we were scared about what happened to you. We just want you safe. D'you understand that?”

Though again she didn’t answer right away, eventually she nodded.

“Go on, go give mummy a big cuddle, eh?”

And when Rosie did tot back over, raising her arms to be picked up, they both _did_ feel better. Taylor settled her on her hip, bouncing her a little playfully. They both needed to lift their moods up again before the show started, after all. In Taylor’s case, she needed a touch up, too.

“Wanna come back to make-up with me? We can do your hair,” Taylor offered, which got Rosie to perk up a bit. Sitting in on hair and make-up sessions was something she enjoyed, even though she still hadn’t been able to convince Taylor to let her wear any make-up too.

Meeting Harry’s eyes again, he and Taylor shared a long apologetic look. _‘I’m sorry. It’s okay. I love you.’_

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

The rest of the North American leg went relatively drama free. As they hopped around the country, playing shows for thousands, they had a blast. Taylor felt so much more _comfortable_ with herself, with how her life currently was, with everything. It was so much easier to enjoy the magic she was sharing when nothing else mattered.

Rosie fell ill after their stop home in Nashville, and Harry hadn’t felt much better, either. They had missed the next show, raising concern from those who noticed, but with some rest (and some chicken soup for Harry) as they avoided infecting Taylor, they were feeling fresh again in a matter of days.

There were things that went missing along the way, as always was inevitable. Most of it was Rosie’s: she dropped things, a couple toys and drink bottles and dummies getting left behind. The lost toys upset her, but she always had more, they had to remind her.

Their next stop was over to the UK, where Taylor was thankful they had managed to space out the shows: it gave them more time with Harry’s family.

The English countryside was quieter, a much-needed escape. Rosie loved the freedom she had to run around, especially with her grandma, who spoilt her with plenty of homemade biscuits. Now that she was older, she got to see some new photos (as well as be in plenty more herself), too.

“This is daddy when he was your age,” Anne showed her an old photo album over their afternoon tea (milk for Rosie). Rosie looked over the open pages intently, as she sat cuddled up on the couch right beside her, but he didn’t look like the Harry she knew, young and blonde and blue-eyed.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, that’s daddy. You’ve got dimples like him.”

Chewing on her bit of shortbread, Rosie was unaware of the crumbs she was littering, enamoured by the picture book of people she actually knew. “That Gemmy?” she asked, pointing at the closest photograph.

Anne grinned at her, delighted that she had recognised her aunty. “That _is_ Gemmy. She was six here. You’re very clever, Rosie.”

She was a lot bigger than when this side of her family had last seen her in person, certainly. Anne and Gemma, who had travelled back home for the occasion, were enamoured with Rosie, the toddler exciting them all with her new speech and her exploration around the house she didn’t remember visiting before. The cats excited her: she was trying to befriend them like Olivia and Meredith, with varying success.

They gave Harry and Taylor a chance to relax for a while as well, more than happy to watch over Rosie when they wanted some time alone. It made it easier for them to rehearse, and to have the heart to heart Taylor had been mulling over for a while now.

The day before the first show in Manchester, they went for a wander outside, rugged up in coats and scarves to relish the fresh air without catching too much autumn cold. From his childhood backyard, Harry led her out to a quiet spot for them to sit on rocks by the lazy stream. They still held hands once they settled down together, listening to the water bumbling down below. A small robin flitted down from one of the trees and landed near them at the water’s edge; they watched as it bounced around, finding the best spot to dip its beak for a quick drink. It was over in seconds, launching effortlessly to disappear back to its perch overhead.

More often than they would like to, they both felt like that. The need to appear only fleetingly, before something bigger and meaner came along to make a meal out of you.

“What’s on your mind?” Harry eventually broke the silence between them. For a while, he had just been rubbing his thumb against hers, and she had lost herself in the tender motion in amongst their idyllic setting.

“How do you know there’s something on my mind?”

“You’ve been quiet too long.”

That was the thing about truly getting to know someone, spending all your time together: you couldn’t hide.

Taylor gave a small smile. “Are you saying I talk too much?”

“Absolutely,” Harry teased, flashing her that dimpled grin. He softened, though, adding, “I could listen to you talk about anything.”

“You don’t _really_ mean that.”

“You've got a sexy voice,” he persisted, making her burst into laughter, just how he loved.

“ _You’re_ the one with the sexy voice. If either one of us should always be talking, it’s you.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek the way that she loved, and again, she marvelled at the wonder of it all. Sitting here with her fiancé, their daughter playing inside the house he had grown up in. His hand squeezing hers, after his lips brushed softly over her cheek. The love that resonated in his eyes when he looked at her. For a while, she really had stopped believing that she would find this, and yet here they were, alone together, the world not knowing where they were. Taylor had never been happier.

“What’s on your mind?” Harry asked again, gentle, and she leaned more towards him, their shoulders pressed together.

“Do you think... would you wanna move back here?”

“Back with my mum? It’s a nice thought, I’m sure she’d love it, but I think you’ll find we won’t have much privacy.”

“Not like that,” Taylor laughed.

“ _Sorry mum, I don’t think you’ll want to have breakfast here, I just shagged my wife on the dining table_.”

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” she grinned, laughter still in her voice. “I meant, do you want to move back to _England_. We’re not moving in with your mom.”

“She loves you.”

“I am _not_ having sex with you on her dining table, I would die of shame.”

“Rosie’d probably walk in and we’d scar her for life.”

“ _Why_ do I even bother trying to have a normal conversation with you?”

Harry giggled (so that was why), lifting her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. His warm breath tickled her skin as he held her hand up for a moment longer, brushing his nose over her knuckles affectionately before their joined hands returned to resting on her thigh.

“I’d like to live around here again, yeah,” he eventually gave her a proper answer. “Have you been thinking about moving?”

“Maybe,” she said casually, which told him that yes, she had been thinking about it. “I thought... maybe we could have a look around, while we’re here. Rosie seems to like it here, and we should really be looking into a good preschool for her. I know we’re always going to be travelling a lot, but I’d like her to be settled, y'know?”

Puzzling it for a moment, Harry toed the grass underneath with the tip of his boot. “Thought you wanted to settle in Nashville?”

“I love Nashville. It’s always going to feel like home to me, but I think... being here, I feel like I would love living here. It’s... peaceful. And it’s beautiful and yeah, I think Rosie would have fun growing up here. And we could split our time between here and Nashville – plenty of people do that sort of thing, I’m sure we could make it work. It would just depend on... – well, what do you think?”

For one, he thought she had definitely been thinking about it more than briefly. It wasn’t just an, _'oh, here’s an idea I just had!'_ – it obviously meant something to her. And it meant something to him too, that she was considering his home country as their permanent place.

But still...

“I thought you wanted to start planning our wedding after the tour,” Harry reminded her, and Taylor automatically gave that special little smile, the way she always did when their engagement was mentioned.

It came up frequently with fans who still congratulated her in person, and every time, Taylor got that lovey dovey look on her face. “We’re gonna wait until after tour. We’re not in any rush,” was generally the sort of answer she gave whenever anyone asked about their impending nuptials. Or about the jewellery she constantly wore – her engagement and promise rings, with her locket kept safe in her purse during her performances in case it broke in the midst of all her dancing; she always put it back on once she was off stage – she blushed, “We’re both terribly sentimental. I still have a necklace he gave me seven years ago.”

“We don’t have to go _over the top_ with our wedding–”

“I want you to have your dream wedding,” Harry was quick to promise her, his tender smile melting her heart. “Whatever you want, you can have. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Harry,” Taylor sighed, squeezing his hand. “I just want _you_. It doesn’t matter _how_.”

Tilting his head adorably, he emphasised, “And I want you to have your fairy tale happily ever after. Let me give you that.”

An adoring smile glowing on her face, Taylor cupped his cheek with her free hand and kissed him wonderfully. Little did he know, he had been giving her that for a while now; they didn’t need a wedding to prove that, but gosh, they both loved the thought.

“You’re _actually_ the sweetest, y'know?” she complimented, beaming, and he shrugged a shoulder, mirroring her expression.

“D'you really want to have to stress over moving house _and_ planning a wedding?”

“But think about how perfect it’ll feel coming home from our honeymoon to our new home,” she persuaded, and okay, she _did_ have a point. He just wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from; weren’t they happy in Nashville? Perhaps all the travel had sparked the desire for something new and exciting.

“Have you started thinking about all this 'cause you’re getting old?” Harry met her with humour, and her jaw dropped. “If you’re having a midlife crisis, I should know about it.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Taylor had to laugh. “We can’t stay in our twenties forever.”

With the tour set on hold over the holidays, Taylor had celebrated her thirtieth birthday a month ago, a milestone that hadn’t seemed so confronting when things felt so wonderfully _right_. Her career was thriving, she had a close group of friends who truly knew and accepted her, and she shared her everyday life with her lover and their beautiful daughter. For a while, it had seemed like she would _never_ have it all, at least not so soon, and now… now she couldn’t imagine anything differently. As she celebrated with the ones she loved that December 13th, a glorious dress up party that had made for a magical day and night, Taylor had been completely content with entering a new chapter. Everything was as it should be.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m in for a lifetime of jokes about being older than you?”

“Because you totally are,” Harry grinned cheekily at her. She raised a brow in challenge.

“Two can play at that game, baby.”

“Mm, that doesn’t really work, baby's a nice thing for you to call me. And you already call me that, anyway.”

“Sorry if insults aren’t my forte.”

“It’s not insults, it’s banter – it’s a different thing.”

“If you say so.”

“It _is_ ,” he laughed.

“Maybe I _will_ have a crisis if you keep calling me old,” she joked, and he gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll still love you even if you go mental.”

Laughing, Taylor shifted so she could rest her head on his shoulder. The bird was back, this time having a splash around, cleaning its feathers at the shallow edge. They both watched the water droplets spray all around it, disturbing the peace. A few times, it ducked underwater, giving itself a proper wash, before it flitted off again, quick as ever.

“I just want to make a home with you,” Taylor said gently, after a little while. “Nashville is home, but... I want a place that we choose together, y'know? Somewhere special we can raise Rosie and give her a normal life.”

Tilting her head more towards his, she sighed quietly as his thumb rubbed over hers again. “I want to make a home with you as your wife.”

“I’ll give you everything I ever have,” Harry promised her, with a seriousness he never could’ve meant when they first met. But now... now it was everything. Like anything he could ever need was right there within the woman at his side.

He couldn’t tell if his amorous kiss would be promise enough, but he would spend a lifetime trying.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Rehearsal before the Manchester show was one of the more playful ones. The vibe was a bit different when it was one of the special shows.

Their families were catching up, Taylor’s having flown over in time for the first night of the UK leg. The reunion was going really well, all happy to see each other again, something both Taylor and Harry were always thrilled by. Rosie seemed to enjoy having _all_ of her grandparents together to shower her in attention in the one place, though most of hers was on her aunty. Gemma (or Gemmy, as she had become affectionately known once again) was one of the few people Rosie was oddly enamoured with, eagerly always wanting to play with her and show her anything and everything. It was adorable, really.

Gemma and her boyfriend had taken Rosie out to a playground earlier in the day to help wear her out for the nap she needed to make it through the night’s show. Only Gemma was allowed to help her climb around the playground and push her on the baby swing, apparently. Only Gemma was any good at playing in the sand, and only Gemma could make her put her beanie back on after she pushed it off her head nonsensically. Michal gained some of her interest when he bought her ice cream, though, but she still admired Gemma much, much more.

She happily hung out in Gemma’s hold while their family chatted on the stadium floor, out of the way of the special soundcheck on stage.

There were a few times that Harry had made it notably into their behind the scenes footage. It was inevitable, really, when he was there all of the time, watching and supporting and always finding a way to make Taylor smile.

“This is how I’m going to die,” Taylor had announced before the show in Atlanta, a camera fixed on them in anticipation as she sat perched on the edge of her piano with Harry crouched in front of her. It had been his idea, and he was convinced it was going to work out fine, but the crowd of crew watching them was rather ominous.

“Your faith in me is ground breaking,” Harry had said dryly, hands resting on her legs dangling over his shoulders. He had been crouching for a little while now, waiting for her to work up the courage to actually put her weight on him and sit atop his shoulders like Rosie loved to.

“We’re _literally_ about to be ground breaking in a minute.”

“We are not,” Harry laughed. “Take my hands, love.”

As he held his hands out for her, Taylor had gripped them tightly, still hesitant. “You know I weigh like a hundred times more than Rosie.”

“You do not,” he’d instantly disagreed; he never liked it when she talked herself down. “C’mon. You’re not about to die; it’ll be fun.”

Eventually, Taylor had shuffled forward, moving off the piano and onto his shoulders, and when he stood up straight – they hadn’t collapsed into a heap on the stage floor! They hadn’t died either! It actually _was_ fun being carried around so high, like she was some kind of goddess to be revered by her onlookers. She understood why Rosie always asked for it.

Harry had played up for the camera, deadpanning, “This is the only way she finds acceptable getting around backstage. Taylor’s very demanding.”

“Did I say you could address me by my name?” Taylor had gone along with it easily, in her driest tone.

“Sorry, Madam Swift. Won’t happen again.”

A part of her had been tempted to share it online (she occasionally added much loved snippets onto her Instagram story, just for that extra little connection), but it had ended up with the rest of the footage she was archiving, memories she would (maybe) eventually share later on. She loved Harry, was never going to let anyone make her feel ashamed about it again, but she didn’t feel it necessary to shout it out to the world all the time either. Privacy meant more to them ever since Rosie had come into their lives.

She _had_ shared one of his jokes early on in the tour, though, on account of how awful it was. If the tour was all about reputations, why not remind everyone of Harry’s as a terrible (but adorably proud) joke teller.

A camera had conveniently been on them when Harry had tried to be funny. At least it was appropriately themed.

“When will the little snake arrive?”

Taylor had looked at him patiently; she always humoured him, not wanting to hurt his feelings when admittedly she did enjoy hearing his jokes. “When?”

“I don’t know, but it won’t be long.”

Harry had grinned as if he’d told the best one ever, and Taylor had attempted to bite back any sign of amusement. It wasn’t that funny, but it was kind of clever, and maybe she might have made some sort of sound as she naturally smiled back at him.

“She laughed,” he said proudly to the camera.

“I did not.”

“She thinks I’m hilarious.”

“I think you’re an idiot,” Taylor countered affectionately, and he’d just shrugged.

“You’re the one who said yes.”

Her smile sweetened at the mention, something that was raved about once it was shared online. “I didn’t say yes to your jokes,” she pointed out.

“We’re a package deal, you totally did.”

There had been a short lapse between then and the next clip, where Harry had his arm around her shoulders and Taylor had both of hers wrapped around his middle, genuine smiles always on their faces.

“You two are the cutest,” the camerawoman had commented, and Taylor squeezed him tighter.

“He’s my baby,” Taylor gushed, both of them bursting into laughter when Rosie, playing nearby, heard 'baby' and assumed it was addressed to her, audibly replied, “What?”

Candid moments like that were rarely shared by them; it made what they did offer that bit more special. Even if certain people didn’t understand – and never would – the ones on their side were who really counted, and they were who Taylor wanted to show that she had found the love she had always dreamt of.

Tonight, Harry was going to feature much more heavily on her Instagram. For it wasn’t just the first show of the UK leg – it was a coveted show with a _surprise guest_.

It hadn’t been so much of an _if_ but a _when_. Their collaboration was destined to extend from writing to recording to performing together – in a way, a one-off performance was a test of the next project they were considering: an album, written and recorded and produced by the two of them, and most likely an accompanying tour. Regardless of what anyone else might think, it was something they wanted to do, whether now or in years to come.

Harry got the feeling he would be less nervous about being on stage with Taylor if it was a stage they were officially sharing, rather than him only appearing as a guest. He didn’t _think_ it would turn out horribly wrong and her sea of adoring fans would totally despise his feature, but...

Well. He just wanted to make her proud.

Her excitement was endearing, had been ever since they had finally decided that Manchester was their _when_ and they had begun rehearsing their _what_. It had taken a bit of debate – Taylor refused to sing 'Kiwi' and perpetuate the rumour that she was the inspiration behind it – but 'Sign of the Times' was their pick and she was thrilled to be able to sing a song that meant so much to him, in a place that had known him long before her.

His agreement that they would look into finding a new home together just the afternoon before made it all that much sweeter. It was almost like it all really was meant to be, and Taylor was utterly in love with the thought.

Their finally rehearsal at soundcheck was a bit, well, unproductive. They were both hard workers, for sure, but they were also young lovers and best friends – messing around was inevitable.

“ _Just stop your crying, have the time of your life,_ ” Harry sang with more enthusiasm than ever as they skipped playfully down the centre catwalk.

“ _Breaking through the atmosphere,_ ” Taylor continued, twirling ahead of him. “ _And things look pretty good from here._ ”

She kept skipping along with him, until he got to, “ _We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here,_ ” where she dramatically swept off in the opposite direction, hand on heart and stretching her other arm back out to him longingly. The clip of it filmed on her phone by one of her backup singers was going to make for a nice addition to Instagram later on, but it didn’t exactly help the crew starting to prepare for their performance when their current rendition was nothing like how they intended on doing it.

They had long decided who was singing which alternating part, when to harmonise where. Taylor was planning on starting it off on her piano, and when Harry popped up through one of the trap lifts, they would meet up along the catwalk as they turned the ballad into a duet – though not quite as dramatically as they were now.

“I’m so excited,” Taylor gushed into her phone’s front camera after they had managed a serious run through. Harry had ducked out of the way of the frame, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of it for long. “I love this song so much, I’m so proud of – where did you go? Why do you keep running from me?”

“You tried to put that cat filter on me last time,” Harry reminded her from his spot a metre or so away, his voice lowered but not quite enough that he couldn’t be heard on her recording.

“The cat filter is the cutest!”

He really shouldn’t have brought it up, since of course she was going to switch over to Instagram to open that very filter – making sure she only downloaded the resulting video instead of uploading it too early.

“Isn’t this the cutest thing ever?” Taylor decided, once she managed to get Harry in the frame, with the addition of cat noses and ears on the both of them. Sure, it was sweet, but Harry really didn’t see himself as a filter-loving person.

“It would be better just on you,” Harry commented, but she was having none of that.

“But look how cute you are.” Moving her phone closer toward him, she cut herself out as she zoomed in on his face for emphasis of her very correct point. It had him laughing “Shit,” and the clip cut to the sound of both of their laughter as he ducked out the way.

Her filming was (thankfully) set aside for a while. They were still messing around as always, though; it perhaps wasn’t the most pedestrian-friendly to pick a quiet space of hallway backstage to throw a ball around with Rosie, but she loved it, and no strangers got smacked with it, so it wasn’t so bad.

Rosie did get bothered by her parents tossing it between them way above her head; hard as she tried, she just couldn’t jump high enough to intercept it. She begged, even tried to get Gemma to conspire a takeover of the game with her, but it didn’t quite work out the way she hoped.

When Harry _did_ decide to pass it to again, her reflexes weren’t quite developed enough, and the ball hit her right in the face with a big ol’ _whack_.

The three of them stared at her with concern as the rubber ball bounced away, Rosie blinking at it as if she didn’t know what had just happened.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Harry apologised, making the mistake of adding, “Are you alright?”

It hadn’t occurred to her yet that she might _not_ be. That was the thing with little kids: if they got a bit knocked around, you could tell them they were fine and they would move on. But if you made a fuss about it, when it was just a minor thing, _that’s_ when the tears started.

They were threatened now as Rosie rubbed her eye, considering. Though before she got upset, Taylor proactively came over to ruffle her messy hair. “You’re okay, baby. Just a little bump.”

“ _Bump_ ,” Rosie repeated quietly, liking the sound of the word.

“Why don’t you throw it to Gemmy? Daddy misses a turn for being mean.”

“ _Daddy mean!_ ” she sang, suddenly perking back up as she toddled after the ball. Now _that_ was a line he hoped she didn’t take a liking to repeating often, especially in front of strangers.

She didn’t quite get why Harry got to join in on the hair and make-up session later on either, though they had already explained that this show was going to be different. But if it was different, then in Rosie’s mind, it made perfect sense that she would rightly get a turn by now.

“When you’re bigger, Rosie,” Harry told her as he sat in his chair, already knowing that it wasn’t going to be enough for her.

“ _Am_ big!” she protested, propped up in Taylor’s lap like usual. She had her favourite light up shoes on and was fiddling with the velcro straps, tugging it apart and sticking it back down routinely.

“Not as big as mummy,” he acknowledged, not that that mattered to her. Bigger than she’d ever been, _that’s_ what counted to her.

“Am big,” Rosie repeated in a low, definite tone, wriggling a little on the spot as she still played with her shoe strap. Taylor stroked her hair gently, borrowing a couple of ties from her stylist so she could fashion two little pigtails on the top of her head, curls still spilling down the back, too short to be tied that high. It was an adorable compromise.

It won Rosie’s favour, since after Harry’s stage face was done, she swivelled around to tell Taylor a secret.

While she hadn’t yet learnt the act of whispering, he didn’t quite catch what she had said into Taylor’s ear. He couldn’t miss Taylor’s stifled laugh and praising pat of Rosie’s back, though.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just that Rosie thinks I look prettier,” Taylor beamed, an almost identical look on Rosie’s face as she peered over at him, her arms wrapping around her mother’s neck. It was striking seeing them together, so similar in their beauty. Her personality was a lot alike, too, with a cheeky streak that was a lot like her father.

“She’s not wrong,” Harry shrugged honestly, chuckling.

Taylor wasn’t quite so convinced when he changed into his stage outfit, however. Being prepared, they had gone to the trouble of getting him a custom design for the night, one that was a perfect blend of the tour’s aesthetic and his taste.

Namely: it was very, very sparkly.

“Give us a twirl,” Taylor requested, having pulled her phone out again. He obeyed, mostly because he really did love his outfit.

A black well-tailored suit, gold embroidery detailed the front, jewels dotted randomly making it glitter. It continued over the back, where a large red and gold snake was sewn down the centre, themed especially for the night. Paired with a plain black shirt and trousers, with black glittery boots, the jacket was the centrepiece that looked really fucking cool.

“You look amazing,” Taylor grinned behind the camera.

“Thank you,” Harry replied politely once he was facing her again, dipping into an adorable curtsy.

“Can I wear that jacket after you?”

“If you’d like to.”

“It’s so pretty.”

She took a photo of the back of his jacket, adding it to the list of things to upload later. Was she being a little much? Maybe! But Taylor was excited and didn’t really give a damn.

Everything else was relatively normal, until their family went to claim their spot to watch the show and Harry stayed behind. Of those who noticed the Styles and Swifts being led to their assigned spot on the floor, there were some raised eyebrows over Harry’s absence – but he _could_ just be unwell, right? It didn’t necessarily _mean_ anything. But it _was_ weird that his mum and sister would be there and he wouldn’t, when he was normally always there with Rosie on his shoulders. So maybe it _did_ mean something.

They didn’t give anyone long to debate the significance, since soon the lights went out and the stage lit up. Harry watched what he could from backstage, trying to get his shit together before he was meant to go on.

“’M nervous,” he had admitted softly, after the others had gone and she asked him why he’d gone quieter than normal.

“ _Babe_ ,” Taylor had sighed, taking his hands and squeezing them in reassurance. “You’re going to be amazing out there. You always are – you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

That was easy for _her_ to say. This was _her_ tour, _her_ crowd – they were guaranteed to adore her. But _him?_ They didn’t have to like _him_.

“There’s a lot of people are there,” he reminded her. A lot more than the last crowd he had performed in front of. He hadn’t done something like this since he was in the band.

“And they’re going to love you.” Sensing his reluctance to take her word for it, Taylor softened. “I’m going to be _right there_ with you. You’re not doing this alone; you’ve got me. Always.”

And they’d cuddled a bit, he’d given her a long good luck kiss before she went on, and he’d felt better. But he was still nervous.

He was a guest at a _Taylor Swift_ concert. Even though she was Tay to him, and he’d seen her in all states from high to low, every day, it was still the stuff of dreams. If someone had told him ten years ago that he’d be doing this now, he would’ve thought they were completely mental.

Rosie nearly ruined the surprise for those nearby when she yelled to hear herself through her headphones, “When daddy go?” If anyone with good hearing overheard, they didn’t make it obvious; Gemma simply patted her back and assured her it would be soon.

It was late in the set list that he was actually on – simply because they needed the piano and it was easier to slot him in then than bring it on stage more than once. It was one of their songs that she played on it, too, but he’d politely declined her suggestion to perform that together as well. They were all here for _her_ , after all.

They had agreed on after, then. After she finished playing the softest song on the record, Taylor remained at the piano, smiling wondrously out at the screaming crowd, a sea of lights twinkling in front of her. It was the kind of magical sight you could never get used to.

“You guys... you guys are so beautiful! I’d like to do something a little different for you, if that’s okay?”

The resounding screams she received sounded a whole lot like a _yes_.

“Someone very special to me grew up around here,” Taylor began, having to pause a moment for the crowd to settle again, an adorable grin on her face. “And, um, there’s this song that I’m really proud of, it’s one of my favourites from this record. It really meant a lot to me at a time when I was so... unsure, about a lot of things. And I think, y'know, that’s when we really turn to music, when we need to hear that things are gonna be alright. I know this song means a lot to a lot of people, it means a lot to me, so, um, I was hoping you could welcome someone _so_ special to the stage with me.”

As she began playing the opening notes, Taylor couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as astonishment rippled through the stadium. Fans had discussed the possibility of Harry being a special guest, especially since he went to every show, but it wasn’t the same as it actually happening in front of one lucky crowd.

“ _Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times._ ”

It was much different singing this in front of a crowd than at home, when her audience usually only consisted of a cat. Before he had even released it, she had already stripped it back to a full piano version, something that helped her feel closer to him when things were hard, when he wasn’t around. She had played it alone to herself more than he knew; she hadn’t been able to figure out how to tell him that he had unknowingly given her something so meaningful at the time she had needed it most.

This now was her way of saying thank you, for everything he had done for her to get her to this point. She could never say thank you enough.

Glancing toward the spot further along at centre stage, Taylor’s smile illuminated even more so as Harry popped up from a trap lift for the pre-chorus, timing perfect and his voice even more so. Sharing a stage together was the sort of dream they had never thought they could make come true, not when things were the way they were when it came to them. And sure, Harry was shit scared, and Taylor knew there would be people who wished he had nothing to do with her, but they loved every single minute of it.

When her band kicked in, Harry swept over to her as he sang, chivalrously holding out his hand to assist her up from her piano stool. Hand in hand, they paraded down the centre catwalk, delighting the crowd with their natural chemistry and enchanting blend of their voices.

It wasn’t a song that usually he smiled during, but when he looked across at Taylor at his side, he couldn’t help it. She sparkled on stage; it was unlike any other of his performances.

And even though it was the longest of his songs, it felt as if it was over far too quickly. The final notes rang out through the stadium, punctuated by an eruption of ecstatic screams. The audience glittered with flashing lights, and Harry’s stomach swooped again at just how many people were before him. Taylor’s eyes locking on his instantly grounded him again.

She pulled him into a hug, closing her eyes as she squeezed him tight. The camera projecting them onto the big screens caught it all: when Harry pulled back enough to say “I love you” and how he kissed her on the cheek. She very nearly gave him a proper kiss, a beautiful smile lighting her face, yet she only giggled as she broke away, lifting her mic.

“Why thank you, Harry.”

“Thank you for having me,” he politely replied into his, unable to wipe the smile from his own face.

“Can we all say an extra special thank you to Harry for coming out here tonight?” Taylor requested, initiating another round of cheers. He bowed in appreciation, waving in all directions, until they settled.

“Can I say a quick word?”

“That’s not how this works,” she deadpanned.

“I just want to say,” Harry laughed regardless; she was too curious to properly stop him, “thank you to everyone who’s come out tonight, to any of the shows on this tour – it’s been fantastic and it really means a lot to all of us. Um – yeah.”

Glancing at Taylor, her smile had him faltering. Even after all this time, she still managed that.

“Aww, that was sweet, thanks for saying that,” Taylor kindly replied. “One of us was going to get cheesy tonight.”

“It’s usually you.”

Taylor giggled into her mic, and with her band toying with the tune, they strutted back down the catwalk together, where they waved side by side as they sunk down the trap lift. As soon as they were safely out of sight below the stage, Harry went in for that kiss, hasty and electrifying. They hardly wanted to let go, sneaking in a few more quick kisses in between Taylor’s costume change, the piano being taken off stage in preparation for her next song.

“You’re killing it, babe,” Harry murmured to her at the last minute, tapping her ass as she got into position for the next act. Flashing him a playful grin over her shoulder, she blew him one last kiss before heading off to kill it for the rest of the show.

He watched from backstage, bursting with a thrilling mix of exhilaration and pride. That was– It was like nothing else he’d done, and one thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to do it again. Over and over again, he wanted to share a stage (maybe one not _quite_ so big) with his best friend, the woman he loved. Some new material, reworks of both of their own discography – it could be really fucking incredible, and when the time was right, it might just end up being their favourite tour.

 

*** * * * *  
* * * * ***

 

After months of travelling, delighting crowds from all over, the tour was finally coming to an end.

Stopping was never simply easy. After spending so long with the same group of people, getting to know one another as you shared such a unique experience, night after night, it was hard having to say goodbye. Not to mention switching off from the person you were on stage, where you were loved and you mattered. Who were you if you suddenly didn’t have all that?

This time around, it was Rosie who made it all make sense. Rosie, who was constantly growing and learning, who always relied on Taylor, even if it wasn’t quite so heavily as when she was a baby. Rosie gave her a constant sense of purpose: no matter what else she might be, Taylor was always going to be her mom.

There was one song Taylor had wanted to dedicate to her the whole time. Just the one special song, one that she had seen requests for from fans online. When someone had asked her to play it at one of her post-show meet and greets, she had cupped her face, “I can’t do it. I sang it to Rosie when she was a baby and now it just makes me cry.”

On and off, she had privately tried practicing it, but could never quite make it through without getting emotional. It meant something much more to her now than it had when she’d written it at nineteen.

But it was the last show of the tour, and Taylor was determined to try.

“Oh – that’s not the right key,” Taylor interrupted herself, just after she began rehearsing 'Never Grow Up' during soundcheck. She started over, and it was going well, she remembered all the words and got the chords right, but...

Rosie was right in front of her, sitting in Harry’s lap by the edge of the stage. She was rapt, watching with bright eager eyes. Taylor couldn’t help from looking back at her and she just _couldn’t_. Couldn’t bear the thought of her little girl no longer looking at her like she was the most amazing thing in the world.

Stepping back from the mic, Taylor stopped again, pressing her fist to her lips. What was she doing? She couldn’t really do this.

“Why mummy crying?” Rosie asked innocently, and Harry brushed her loose hair back from her face.

“Go give her a hug, sweetheart.”

Whether it was the most helpful move or not, Rosie didn’t think twice about hopping up and walking over, the tulle skirt of her glittery dress bouncing with her steps. “Mummy?” she said, and immediately Taylor set down her guitar and dropped to her knees, bundling her daughter up in her arms. The soft scent of Rosie’s shampoo was soothing.

“Why you crying?”

Taylor squeezed her a little tighter, careful not to hurt her. “I’m not crying, sweetie.”

“Your eyes raining.”

A surprised giggle lightened her mood. Oh, gosh, she loved having a toddler. They came out with the sweetest of things.

“I just love you so much, Rosie. You’re my little angel,” Taylor said softly, pulling away enough to cup Rosie’s face, gazing into her clear blue eyes so like her own. “You’ll always be my little angel.”

It was a gentle moment, albeit one that didn’t last long.

Rosie shuffled her feet. “Mummy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Need potty.”

Rubbing her cheek, Taylor smiled wryly. “Daddy can take you.”

“Want _you_.”

So Taylor paused her rehearsal to take her along to the bathroom, for she was aware that one day Rosie was going to decide she didn’t need her anymore. She wouldn’t want to hold her hand, it wouldn’t be cool to hang out with her anymore, or tell her what was going on in her life. One day, she would find full independence and live in a place of her own. Her little girl wouldn’t be so little anymore.

She just wanted to do this one thing for her. Even if she wouldn’t truly understand it, it was still something small she wanted to give her.

It probably didn’t help that she had rehearsed a back up song as well, in case she chickened out when it came time to perform. In a way, it affirmed her lack of belief that she could make it through the way that she used to be able to.

“Come up there with me?” Taylor asked hopefully, tilting her head cutely to be more convincing. Harry always seemed to be able to find them a few minutes alone before a show; those few minutes were some of the calmest she felt in the lead up. “It might be easier if I’m not alone.”

He shook his head, tucking her hair behind her ear tenderly. “They’re here for _you_ , love. I already got my turn.”

“But I don’t know if I can really do it,” she quietly admitted. “I don’t want to start sobbing on stage, that’s not, that’s really not pretty.”

“If anyone can make it pretty, it’s you, Tay.”

When she smiled at him, she leaned in a little closer too. “Are you trying to distract me with flattery?”

“Is it working?” Harry grinned cheekily, taking the way she kissed him as at least a half yes. “You’ll be amazing, love, you always are. And if you get a little teary, I think it’ll be fine; everyone’ll understand.”

“I don’t know, babe...”

Cupping her face with both hands, he made her look into his eyes as he reminded her, “You can do anything you set your mind to, love.” He affirmed it with a slow, promising kiss.

And while she told him she would try, he wasn’t completely convinced she would really go through with it.

After it came time to say good luck for the final time, Harry took a diversion to collect his surprise for her: a congratulatory bouquet of red roses. He’d specifically requested thirteen, whether she’d notice or not. Setting them aside in a safe place for later had been the intention, but when Rosie saw them, she wanted to get to hold them, and what was the harm in bringing them out to the floor with them?

“Could throw 'em on stage,” he’d joked, and Andrea had smiled at him, almost as if she already knew what he was going to do.

Harry hadn’t even planned it. It was a spur of the moment thing that by far wasn’t the smartest, but was rather romantic, at least.

When Taylor made her way between the crowd to reach the B-stage, where she always played her surprise song, he worried she was going to change her mind. She had worked too hard, was much too talented at what she did to not believe she could make it through one performance of a song that meant a lot to her. He felt compelled to do _something_ to help her.

Lifting Rosie up off her perch on his shoulders, Harry passed her over to Andrea, plucked one of the roses from the bunch, and said he would be back in a minute. Her parents and her brother looked at his retreating back as if he were mental, and soon, so did others.

He beelined for the barricade, where he asked a security member, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, “Can I get through here?”

The boy was young and stunned and obviously not going to say yes. _Nobody_ was allowed through there. That was why he didn’t wait for an answer.

Slipping the long stem of the rose between his teeth, thorns pricked his tongue as he jumped the barricade, easy as if he did this sort of thing all the time. He’d attracted the attention of more of the nearby stationed event staff for his impulsive security breach, and for a brief moment, he thought he was going to be forcibly escorted from his fiancé’s concert.

It hadn’t occurred to him that perhaps his gesture might also terrify Taylor to start, as well. Hearing excited screams when she was yet to even _do_ anything on that stage yet was a bit surprising, but when she realised it was from a nearby commotion, _that’s_ when she panicked. Having a half hunched over figure hurrying toward her stage, where no one was supposed to be? Her first thought was that he was a psycho stalker about to attack her right on stage in front of everyone.

The closest fans had recognised Harry before she did, a little embarrassingly. But once she realised that hey, she knew that mop of dark hair, and she’d seen that shirt all day, her tension instantly released. She just joined everyone else who thought he was nuts.

Harry sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the stage where she could see him best, and he waved at her as if she hadn’t noticed him yet. With her guitar strap slung over her shoulder, ready to play, Taylor hadn’t even begun her usual introduction yet, at a loss for words thanks to his recklessness. She tilted her head and gave him a _look_ , which he roughly translated as _'What the fuck?'_

Taking the rose from his mouth, Harry grinned up at her as he tossed it up toward her. It lobbed high before curving down, thankfully actually making it onto the stage. It hit her on her bare leg and bounced onto the floor at her feet.

“That got me with the thorns,” she said into the microphone, the image of her beaming back at him projected onto the screen. Carefully, she crouched to pick it up, opting to thread it through one of the button holes of her open jacket. “Romantic, though, thank you.”

Harry gave her a double thumbs up and mouthed, “ _You’ve got this_ ,” which made her giggle again. The risk was definitely worth it.

“Um,” Taylor grinned, shaking her head to clear it. “So, this is the part of the show where I like to sing something different for you. And since this is the last show of the tour, I wanted to do something special.

“I think... the most beautiful thing that’s happened for me is having my daughter. She’s the most wonderful little girl – I know every mom says that, but when I look at her, I just– she means the world to me. And having her on this tour, it’s been so special to me getting to show her every night that her dreams can come true. Whoever she wants to be, whatever her passions are, if she works hard and she believes in herself her dreams can come true.

“I’m so excited to watch her grow up. It’s such a beautiful thing watching someone learn and experience new things – and if you’ve been around a two-year-old, you know that happens all the time. Rosie’s gotten so big, she tells me this all the time, that she wants to do big kid stuff. And I love seeing her explore, it’s so much fun to see the world from a two-year-old’s perspective again.

“It’s just... when I look at her sometimes, I think, like, I never want her to change. I want her to stay this gorgeous, sweet little girl forever. And she'll grow up anyway, but she'll always be my baby girl.

“And, um, I’d like to sing this song specially for her. It’s one that means something different to me now that I’m a mom. I used to sing it to her when she was a little baby, and... if you’d like to help me sing it for her now, it would mean so much to me.”

The acoustic performance was moving, not just for Taylor, but for the entire crowd. Just her voice and her guitar, her emotion was palpable as she sung 'Never Grow Up’, now with a different meaning behind it. She wasn’t the only one who teared up as she sung about never letting anyone hurt Rosie, wishing she would stay this little. Right in front of her, Harry’s green eyes were glassy; he almost regretted not bringing Rosie along with him, just so he could hold her safely in his arms while he still could.

By the end of it, every word sung back to her, Taylor glowed from the inside out. Tears had slipped down her cheeks, but she had _done_ it. She had gotten all the way through, and she felt _loved_. Loved by the constant support of her fans and her family.

Wiping under her eyes, Taylor then blew a kiss in Rosie’s direction. When she looked down at Harry and he grinned, “ _I’m so proud_ ,” up at her, she mouthed back, “ _I love you_.”

She couldn’t have made it through all these months without either of them. It wouldn’t have been nearly as fun without the two people who lit up her life in every single way.

 

*** * * * ***

 

Blonde hair spilled across the pillow in golden waves. With a featherlight touch, Harry brushed a stray lock from across Taylor’s face, where it was tickling her nose.

He had woken first, like he tended to to take care of Rosie when she rose, letting Taylor catch up on some more sleep after a big night. Though he quite wished he was still asleep too after their end of tour celebration last night.

After setting Rosie down for bed, they had changed and left her in the care of Taylor’s parents while they went out with her backup singers and dancers for a last hurrah. Flooding an inner city club, they had racked up quite a tab under Taylor’s name, and all gotten rather pissed.

They had been in danger of waking Rosie up when they eventually stumbled back to their hotel room, arms around each other and terribly giggly. Her parents had said goodnight and gone back to their own room; it would’ve been easier to have Rosie stay the night with them, but she was still insisting her cot to be put in their room and she would’ve been awfully disappointed if she woke up and found she had been double crossed if they moved her while she was sleeping.

Shutting the bedroom door, they had tried to keep their voices down as they moved to the sofa, Taylor sitting right stop his lap. She had kissed him more heatedly than at the club, and his lips trailed down her neck, hands hunting for the zip of her dress. For the millionth time, Harry had told her, “I’m so proud of you,” and he reaffirmed it over and over again once they shed their clothes and were skin on skin.

“Like old times,” Taylor had panted a long while later, the two of them a tangled mess of bare limbs on the expensive rug. Above her, Harry had smirked.

“You would’ve been louder in old times.”

Jaw dropping, she pinched his bum in retaliation. “You are _so_ louder than me.”

“No way. You hit all the high notes.”

She’d playfully slapped him that time, and with a few kisses here, hands wandering there, he had taken her there once more, before they conceded they should get some rest. They had fumbled through to the bathroom and slipped into pyjamas, miraculously without disturbing Rosie in their messy process, and promptly fallen asleep bundled up together under the blankets.

He was tempted to rouse her now. _Just once, before she wakes_. But Taylor deserved her rest, and the likelihood of Rosie waking up while they were in the midst of languid morning sex was too high for it to be attractive. They had been interrupted before, but Rosie had never actually _seen_ them do more than kiss, and they intended to keep it that way.

So he stayed lying there, watching her for a little while, finding peace in the soft rise and fall of her breathing. He needed a piss, and a strong cup of coffee, but it was so _comfortable_ in bed, even if it wasn’t their own.

Soon. They would be home soon, and with no plans, they could do whatever they wanted. Anything at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small head pop up out of the cot, a fluff of wild blonde hair sprouting from the top. Pushing himself upright, leaning on one hand, Harry pre-emptively pressed a finger to his lips to signal silence. He’d had to teach it to her early on in the tour, and while she hadn’t _quite_ gotten it at first, she understood perfectly now. Adorably Rosie pressed her finger to her own lips, keeping them firmly closed while Harry carefully slipped out of bed and lifted her up out of the cot.

“Mummy's still sleeping,” he told her in a whisper. “We’ve gotta be quiet.”

He took her to the bathroom first and helped unzip her onesie for her, always glad when she had a dry night. Having to lift her up so she could wash her hands after, he grabbed her hairbrush and de-tangler after, since _something_ had to be done about her mad ringlets that only got madder overnight.

Shepherding her out into the main room, Harry shut the door behind them. He tried not to think about what he’d done to Taylor last night on the very couch Rosie ran over to jump on.

“Want some breakfast, love?”

“Wanna play!”

Her statement was punctuated by her bouncing up and down on the couch, as if she had gone from zero to one hundred from the moment she woke up. Wouldn’t it be nice to still have that kind of energy, he thought?

“We have to have breakfast first,” he reminded her. “We’ll get something nice, eh?”

As usual, Rosie wasn’t all that interested in the room service menu that she couldn’t read. Harry ordered breakfast for the both of them, waiting on getting anything for Taylor in case it went cold if she slept late.

He managed to get Rosie to sit still on the couch for him, where he sprayed a de-tangling mist on her hair that smelled like raspberries. Every time, he doubted how well it actually worked, since Rosie’s hair always seemed to be in curly knots.

She had to be in a particular mood to enjoy having her hair brushed. It was made harder when she started squirming, which, of course, she inevitably did.

“ _Hurts_ ,” Rosie whined after only a minute.

“'M being gentle,” Harry assured her, as he ran the small brush through her curls, careful as always.

“ _Hurts_ me.”

“Well you can blame mummy, you’ve got hair just like hers.”

This argument didn’t help her _now_. Rosie still squirmed and complained, but he didn’t let up until all the tangles were gone. Her hair ended up a fluffy blonde cloud emanating a strong smell of raspberries.

“There. That feels better, eh?” Harry said when he set the brush down after what she thought was an eternity.

“No,” Rosie said defiantly, hopping to her feet.

“It feels better,” he told her, taking her hand and making her stroke her own hair. “See? Nice and soft.”

Even though it was true, she didn’t seem that interested. She turned to him and pointed a small finger toward his head. “Me do you.”

The wise thing to do would be to say no. Harry had let her brush his hair before, and it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. If she thought _he_ wasn’t gentle with her, she should try brushing her own hair and see how she liked it. _Taylor_ was good at it, but Rosie certainly wasn’t.

Still, he never liked to disappoint her, so he reluctantly let her jump back onto the couch and run her brush through his hair. Rosie was rough with it, it hurt terribly, but at least he didn’t still have long hair. That would be eye watering, considering Rosie seemed to be out to punish him.

Room service was his saviour. He settled Rosie on his lap at the table, to help her from throwing her bowl of porridge all over the place. It didn’t really help.

Rosie _liked_ porridge, since he had gotten her to try it back in England. There was no way she would make it through the whole bowl herself; Harry was more than willing to finish it off for her after his simple toast and eggs, easy to eat in between helping Rosie with her breakfast.

“Me do!”

That had been her favourite phrase over the course of the tour. “ _Me do_ ” this, and “ _Me do_ ” that. Every time they tried to correct her grammar, it still stayed “ _Me do_ ”.

Harry already knew what was going to happen. If he let her spoon up her own mouthfuls of porridge, instead of guiding it to her mouth for her, it was not going to make it. It would surely be a miracle if it did.

With reluctance, Harry handed her the spoon, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she would surprise him!

Or not. Inevitably, on her first attempt of spooning up her own bit of porridge, she spilled it before it had the chance of reaching her mouth, pouring it right down onto both her leg and Harry’s. Even so, she still put the spoon in her mouth and looked up at her father with big blue eyes, looking completely innocent.

“Put your mouth closer to the bowl, love,” he taught her, after wiping their pants clean(ish) with a napkin.

It sort of helped, in that the dribbles of porridge she spilled were on the table, rather than their clothes. Harry admittedly dropped a few toast crumbs, but they were easier to brush clean than globs of porridge.

Rosie ended up a mess, but at least she was a _happy_ mess.

By the time the bedroom door clicked open, she was only playing with what was left of her breakfast, swirling her spoon through it, since Harry had quickly stopped her when he saw a hand go to reach inside. He would eat leftovers, but preferably not leftovers manhandled by a grubby toddler.

“Good morning, my sunshines,” Taylor greeted them cheerily as she came over to the table, looking soft in her old cotton PJ's, sleepiness still in her features. Harry smiled as he glanced over at her, tilting his head up for a kiss when she reached them.

“Morning, darling,” he said gently, “Did you have a nice sleep?”

“I did,” she confirmed, with a suggestive little smile that hinted as to why that was. It was the same reason he had slept heavily, though she had certainly woken up feeling last night more than him.

“How’s my little angel?” Taylor asked, slipping into the chair at the end of the table, adjacent to them. When Rosie beamed up at her, she saw just how messy she had managed to get. It wasn’t surprising, really: Rosie sure knew how to make a mess.

“What’s all over your face? And in your _hair?_ ”

“Powwidge!” Rosie announced proudly, flicking the spoon up – which sprayed even more porridge on the table.

“Can I have some please, baby?”

Dipping the spoon back into the bowl, Rosie scooped up some more of the porridge and lifted it up towards her mother, reversing their usual roles. Taylor leaned in so it could reach her mouth, and she hummed her approval after she swallowed.

“ _Yummy_. How come you’ve got it all over the place? It’s not meant to be on your _face_.” Taylor grabbed a napkin, already partly wet with porridge, to wipe Rosie’s face, which made her giggle.

“ _Like_ powwidge.”

And Taylor realised that while Rosie so strongly resembled her in looks, there was one thing she had undoubtedly inherited from her father: whenever she flashed that beautiful smile, she could get away with anything.

Harry started jiggling his leg and Rosie giggled more as she bounced on his lap. They were so sweet together; Taylor propped her chin up on her hand as she gazed at them fondly. From every day onwards, she could watch them like this. She could do anything she liked, no commitments stopping her, and she couldn’t be happier.

“Have you finished eating?” she asked, and Rosie nodded as she tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl, making a loud _ting ting ting._ “Are you sure you’re full? You don’t want one more mouthful?”

Rosie still shook her head, more interested in making music with her spoon. Taylor and Harry shared a sympathetic look: it wasn’t the kind of sound you wanted to hear the morning after a big night out.

“You need a good clean up, Rosie. Wanna have a bath?”

Immediately, her eyes widened and she dropped her spoon, sending it clanging against the table. “Bath time!”

In her eagerness, Rosie scrambled to get down off Harry’s lap, where she bounced up and down once she was upright on her feet.

“Hold your horses, love,” Harry smiled in amusement, ruffling her sticky-but-not-tangled hair. “Mummy hasn’t even had her breakfast yet.”

“But _bath time_ ,” Rosie whined, as if her bath was infinitely more important.

“Order me something?” Taylor asked him, before they had a sulky toddler on their hands, too early in the day. “With coffee, please.”

Harry grinned. “Course. With a side of Advil, perhaps?'

Wrinkling her nose, Taylor nudged him with her foot under the table. “Ha ha. My head’s not the only place that’s a little sore.”

“Bet I could help fix that.”

As they leaned in to kiss across the table, Harry slipping his tongue into her mouth as a hint to where _else_ he could put it, Rosie took matters into her own hands. Since they were too slow being loved up parents, she unzipped her onesie herself and started wriggling out of it, the fabric down to her ankles by the time they pulled away from each other.

“Are we being too slow for you?' Taylor teased, as they watched her try to kick herself free, only covered by a nappy.

“Hey Rosie, I want to play with mummy for a bit, d'you think your bath could wait?” Harry added cheekily.

“No!”

Eventually managing to free herself, leaving her onesie crinkled on the floor, Rosie looked up at the two of them expectedly. _Well?_ her eyes said. _Why are you still sitting there?_

“Want bath _now_ ,” she had to spell it out for them.

“I didn’t hear a please,” Harry noted, glancing at Taylor. “Did you hear a please?”

“I heard no please,” Taylor agreed. “People who don’t say please don’t get baths.”

“PWEASE!”

They both grinned at Rosie’s urgency. The girl really did love her baths.

“I'll get one running for you, okay?” Taylor said, finally slipping back out of her seat. She picked up the discarded onesie, inspecting its stickiness (moderate, definitely in need of a wash) before draping it over the back of the chair. “We’ll let daddy finish his breakfast.”

Rosie bolted to the bathroom, overtaking Taylor easily. Even from his spot at the table, Harry could hear when Rosie finally got to jump in her bath, her delighted shrieks and laughs loud and heart-warming.

There were opportunities lying ahead for the both of them, and yet... this was what mattered more. Family. Being together. Helping their daughter grow and learn and love before time passed too quickly and she wasn’t their little angel anymore.

But she always would be, they both privately suspected. Rosie would be their angel who taught them love and patience, who proved that surprises could be the miracle you never knew you needed.

“There’s nothing I regret about any of this,” Taylor had said to him once, and he had turned to her, bed covers shuffling in the quiet of the night.

“The only thing I regret is not telling you I love you sooner.”

They had a lifetime of _I love you_ ’s ahead of them, and that, they thought, was the most magical thing.


	7. Epilogue

“Is it done yet?”

“I _just_ did it.”

“I have a good feeling about this one. I had a dream about it.”

Taylor sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, trying not to get her hopes up. It wouldn’t be the first time they ended up disappointed.

“What was your dream?” she asked, to pass three long minutes.

“Well.” Harry scratched his head, trying to recall the details. “You’d made a baby cake. But it was like... it wasn’t born, it was still in the womb. A womb cake.”

“A _womb cake?_ ” Taylor couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bringing a smile to his face. “You had a dream I made you a _womb cake?_ ”

“Yeah. Then later, you were really pregnant, and you were giving me cake with these little knickers on, and your tits were huge.”

“Your cake dream turned into a sex dream.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re absurd.”

Their giggled began, their tension dissipating with easy conversation.

“Oh my god, I’m not making you a womb cake and serving it to you in my underwear.”

Harry grinned at her. “It was pretty hot, y'know?”

“I really don’t get your thing with me being pregnant. I didn’t look hot.”

“You’re gonna look so fucking hot.”

_Maybe_.

They had been trying for the last six months with no success. They were _ready_ , they were so ready to welcome a new member into their family, but it wasn’t working out quite like they had planned.

The irony that they couldn’t get pregnant when they actually _planned_ to wasn’t lost on them. It didn’t stop it from hurting each time the test told them no.

The first few times had been okay; they didn’t expect it to happen right away. It was only when they kept hearing no that it got harder. What if they weren’t meant to have more kids? Taylor began to worry that maybe she was getting old to have the family she wanted, while Harry wondered if there was something wrong with him.

She knew he felt terrible with each new negative, like he was failing her. It was through no lack of trying: they tracked her cycle and sure made the most of their window of opportunity. They tried, and they tried, but it just wasn’t working out. Neither of them understood why.

Taylor’s gaze drifted to their dressing table, to the photo frame she so often found herself admiring. It was one of her most favourite pictures, bringing a lightness to her heart whenever she looked at it.

In a perfect embrace, on the most perfect of days, it was a photograph of the two of them dressed all in white. Smiling – they hadn’t been able to stop _smiling_. Their happiness had reached whole new heights they had never known existed.

They’d married last spring, a private ceremony in the English countryside. In good fortune, it had been a lovely sunny day, flowers in full bloom.

Rosie had been their beautiful flower girl. In an adorable pastel dress, lace adorned with tiny flowers and a silk bow tied at her back, a ribbon tied into her golden curls, she had nearly stolen the show. She had taken her special duty with pride; they were so thankful to have her there, three years old and thriving.

It had just been a big party to her, really, with guests all in fancy dresses and suits. And that was what it was; they had committed to each other long ago, but it felt wonderful to make it official.

The enormity of what Harry felt the moment he saw Taylor walk down the aisle, accompanied by her father, was something he could never figure out how to put into words. She was utterly breathtaking, in her custom Elie Saab gown, intricately detailed and flowing perfectly over her figure. Her hair was a lot like Rosie’s: left down in controlled curls, a few locks were fashioned back to fasten a glittering headpiece that held her delicate veil, flowing down over her shoulders. When she had reached him, he had taken both of her hands in his and softly said, “You look so beautiful,” but it wasn’t nearly enough to encapsulate just how enchanting she was. Especially when she smiled at him.

They had barely been able to take their eyes off each other, gazes so full of love. Both of them had nearly cried during their vows – Taylor actually had the first time she had tried on her dress, and standing in front of him in ivory, almost the same shade of his suit (he’d wanted to do something different), with her lacy lingerie underneath, she really did feel beautiful. She had felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

The most unlikely boy had turned out to be the man forever at her side. Life had a wonderful way of surprising you.

A honeymoon on the Amalfi coast had been blissfully romantic; lazy days spent swimming and exploring a cosy town, indulging in good food and wine. Rosie had an extended sleepover with Harry’s mum, after short stints with Selena and with Gemma, leaving them relaxingly childless for two whole weeks. They all missed each other, of course, but they couldn’t pretend that they didn’t enjoy the freedom, like when they were younger.

Returning home had still been a familiar comfort. Home for now was England: Taylor had gotten her wish a few months after her tour had ended when they discovered an old estate in the countryside, not that far from where Harry had grown up, with sprawling land on the market. They’d visited and fallen in love with the new possibility, of raising a family in a home with room for plenty of kids, more than enough space for them to run and play. Since going on a pony ride, Rosie was trying to convince them to get her one of her own, and they suspected it was a wish they were going to hear for years to come.

Their days were relaxed again now. Taylor loved spending time in her new garden (which was good, since there was always _something_ to be done out there). She sometimes got Rosie to help her water her flowers and pick vegetables from the patch Harry had set up for her, too. It gave Rosie responsibility that helped her feel more independent. Being able to give Rosie a childhood reminiscent of her own meant so much to Taylor; Rosie was the greatest gift she had been given, and in turn Taylor wanted to give her the world.

There were rumours about Harry releasing a new album – it had been a few years since his solo debut, after all. But his next project was going to take everyone by surprise. _Their_ next project, rather.

Ten tracks on a collaboration album. They were close to a release – once they had eventually decided on a track list and what they were going to call themselves.

“‘H’ comes first alphabetically,” Harry had pointed out.

“‘T’ sounds better coming first,” Taylor had (rightfully) argued.

‘T + H’ had become their sign off, their initials handwritten respectively on the front cover of their album, a photograph of them standing at a distance side by side in a field of flowers, an aesthetic that reflected the acoustic indie vibe of their tracks. They were nervous, real damn nervous about the reaction they were going to get from their separate fan bases, but it was a project they loved. Hopefully everyone could see that.

They were hoping for an accompanying tour, but they hadn’t locked anything in on account of the unsureness of where their family was headed. Taylor didn’t want to be on tour whole heavily pregnant, but the way things were going, that didn’t look like it was going to be a problem.

_‘Please, please, please.’_

They were longing for a new baby. Their first was soon turning four, and all they wanted was to give her a little brother or sister. It was one thing that sounded so simple, and yet their lack of success was breaking their hearts.

After three long minutes, Taylor’s phone bleeped with its timer coming to an end. They almost didn’t want to look.

Harry didn’t, not until Taylor had. She deserved to be the first.

“Harry,” Taylor eventually said, trying to control her voice as she clutched the pregnancy test on her hands.

“Yes?” he said tentatively. Was that hope in her voice? Or was he only hoping it was hope?

“There’s two lines.”

His gaze snapped to hers, his eyes sparkling wide.

“I’m pregnant!”

Those two words changed it all. Smiles broke out on their faces, and they were laughing on joy as they wrapped up in an excited embrace. Harry fell backwards and Taylor pinned him down with an ecstatic kiss, saying thank you and I love you all at once.

What Taylor knew now that she hadn’t the first time was that she had given her body and her heart to a man who was going to treasure it. Not just for now, when it was convenient, but forever. When they were older and their songs were played on CD's of the past, their names no longer in lights, they would still have someone to share a dream with. Someone to laugh with, to joke with, to tease. To support, to confide in, to reminisce with. To raise their children with, to cry when they one day left, and marvel when they found their own lovers and had families of their own.

Someone to always feel so at home with, every single day of their lives.

And that was _real_ love.


End file.
